The Rising Phoenix
by InsideOutsideWithin2468
Summary: She was awakened by the power of her descendant and controlled by none. Elijah Mikaelson/ OC Bonnie Bennett/ Klaus Mikaelson
1. Chapter 1

**Edited**

* * *

Qetsiyah had been right- her humanity was very well tailored.

Susannah had put a great deal of work into perfecting herself; as a child, she had sketched an image of who she wanted to be and, with clay and dust and blood, she made it reality. There had been other hands to help her sculpture take form- hands of soft flesh and brutal intent- but the work had been largely hers. She was proud of her humanity the way a farmer might be proud of a prize winning vegetable. She had raised it from seed after all, watered it carefully, let it bloom when the time arrived. Her person suit was her crowned achievement, a symbol of her mastery over the common man. A symbol of power.

But once she had been released she had chosen to forgo it in favor of something much more primal.

It was the beast who owned her tonight, the beast with its fierceness, with its sharp teeth, with its thirst.

 _"You must accept who you are, my darling creation." Her mother, Qetsiyah, had said softly, even as her cold fingers bruised Susannah's thin arms. Human in that moment, though not always._

But those were old times.

Susannah shook her head as if she could physically dislodge the sound of her mother's voice from her head. Her time in this mindset fleeting, she really should enjoy it instead of dwelling on the nostalgia of childhood- and tonight, she would allow herself freedom.

The beast possessed her; taking the bits that were human and smothering them, snuffing out the fire of humanity until it was a dimly lit ember and replaced it with brute animal strength and the need to eat and kill.

Standing in the shadows, pushing her way through bushes and shrubs. There were many creatures in this forest, she could hear the scurrying of mice beneath the dirt, the crackling of branches where deer walked, and occasionally, the near silent glide of an owl. There were many scents too- the stink of a startled stunk, the earthy richness of the dirt, the decaying body of a dead deer. And another scent, too, the sweetest of them all.

Susannah lifted her nose to the air, pausing in her hike and inhaling greedily.

Human.

The beast inside screamed then, propelling her forward. Her humanity dismissed to her bloodlust, yanked around like a dog on a leash.

Desperately she tried to reason with the animal within, using logic where none existed, trying to force her body to halt. Her instincts and wits battled for a moment as the trees smudged into one big blur.

Her sprint had taken her to the edge of the forest. The trees thinned here, the foliage yawning to reveal a little valley illuminated by the lights of a little house. Susannah rocked backwards on the heels of her feet and took a moment to observe.

She knew that she had traveled far into the night- she wasn't at all familiar with her surroundings. The house was isolated, so much so that if she did not see the light and curl of smoke from the chimney, Susannah might've thought it was empty.

The scent of blood was strong here- one of the inhabitants had to be outside.

Scanning the landscape, Susannah snaked her tongue out to lick her lips.

A little silhouette was walking around the house. It's gait crooked, shaky; there was hesitation to every step, a peculiar stiffness. Easy prey.

Smoke blew out between his lips, the cigarette between his fingers short.

She watched attentively as the man disappeared around the corner of his house before reappearing on the other side. The same stiff gait, looping over and over. Curious and hungry, she stalked forward. The scent of sweat became nearly overwhelming as she began to close the last few meters between them. But even as she loomed closer he did not notice her presence. Too caught up in what he was doing to notice a predator.

Her stomach was furious, growling so harshly it sounded like an animal.

No.

Susannah wouldn't kill him.

There were plenty of deer in the forests, that would be more than enough to satisfy her hunger.

She would not succumb so easily to her beast.

* * *

"You made quite a mess of yourself."

Susannah raised her head, humming in agreement.

She was covered in blood, it matted the tips of her dark hair and holed its way into the small indentions of her necklace. Her hands stained red. Yet despite the bloody gruesome mess she was in, she still looked- ethereal. It was as if the blood complimented her, became a second skin.

They led her to the grandiose bathroom were a steaming bath with fragrant oils had been prepared. The tension that had been building in Susannah since her awakening slowly dwindled at the sight of the wisps of steam floating invitingly above the white soap bubbles.

Shaking off her clothes she submerged herself in the water, the heat of it raising the temperature of her skin.

They approached and immediately started to help clean her off, returning to the familiar pattern Susannah was once very much accustomed to.

Arabella, Lila, Lydia, and Kenia.

Her ladies.

It had been so long since she'd seen them, since she'd seen anything familiar. But here they where, cleaning her off and helping her stand again.

"Where are we?"

Kenia gently situated herself behind Susannah lifting her hands to her hair and beginning the long process of washing her waist length hair. "A land called Mystic Falls."

The water began to turn pink.

"The one who has awakened you resides here."

* * *

Bonnie Bennett.

A mere child of the age of five had done what thousands of witches couldn't even begin to accomplish. She had released Susannah from her entrapment, perhaps the young Bennett had felt a loneliness so profound that her dormant magic acted without any restraint and reached out to the call of blood or maybe there was no explanation and her magic simply did as it chose to do.

Regardless Susannah was thankful.

When she arrived on the porch of Sheila bennett, dressed in the clothes of her time, Sheila had first looked at her with awe before hesitantly bowing before her.

"Daughter of Qetsiyah and Silas," A soft sigh fell from the bowed witch's mouth, her voice sounding as though she couldn't believe of what she spoke. "We have waited a long, long time for you to arise."

"How long have I been trapped in rest."

Swells of power rolling off Susannah's tongue with every word spoken. Her voice clear and quiet, yet commanding.

"Far beyond a thousand years."

Something dark and corrupted filled her eyes, making the melted gold color turn to a deep burning bronze. "Stand," She commanded coolly before asking a question she knew the answer to. "Was it you who awakened me?"

Sheila stood holding her arms to her chest.

"No, every generation has tried to awaken you and all have failed…" Stepping back to open the door of her home, showing a young girl with green eyes and a bright crooked little smile. "Until now."

* * *

It hadn't taken long for her to understand the workings of the new world she had awoken in, even though at times she found everything within it exhausting. Letting her power seep from beneath her fingertips into the garden below her, bringing to life dozens of herbs and wildlife plants.

"You spend more time in this garden then what should be healthy."

In Sheila's hands rested a mug of strong black Jamaican coffee. A pinch of cinnamon giving the brew a pleasantly spicy taste.

A small smile teased her lips, as she hummed a little tune. "I understand nature better than all else."

Turning towards Shelia wearing badly scuffed Reeboks, blue jeans, a red and brown checkered tank top that clung to her skin, and a brown corduroy jacket. The jacket was one of her favorites, worn so often that the cords were threadbare in places, the cuffs were frayed, and the inner arm creases seemed as permanent as a river valley.

"Good morning, Susannah."

"Is it?" She asked somewhat sourly.

Sheila hobbled forward, the power bubbling from the garden soothing the tension from her muscles and making her feel light in her old age. The air whispering with psychic energy. A sensation that could only be felt by a particular nonhuman sect or by humans with highly developed senses.

"Want to talk about whatever has you upset?"

"No."

"It might help to talk about it," Sheila said.

And Shelia, with her sweetness and kindheartedness would never be able to truly see the situation she was in. She might understand on some level the difficulties Susannah faced, but it was all logic, rather than empathy, and while she could sympathize with Susannah's position, Shelia believed that she would find someone who would ground her. And once that happened all her problems would largely melt away.

Susannah knew Shelia didn't mean it to be insulting.

But when her isolation and bitterness were ripe it did feel that way.

"It wouldn't help."

"After all these years you still haven't aged."

Susannah Bennett was definitely not an ordinary girl.

Her hand tightened into a small fist, her caramel brown skin soaking in the light from the sun's rays making her skin look dewy. "A gift from my mother."

Now she walked the earth again as something else. Something new.

"Bonnie will soon begin to notice." Reaching for her and gripping their hands together. "She is twelve now."

Laughing she shook her head, her long dark natural curls swinging healthily behind her. "When I was twelve years of age I had already mastered control of all the elements. Why are you holding her back from her destiny, Sheila."

"Because her destiny will bring her pain, Susannah."

For someone who had lived with Sheila for years upon years, who was fearless and stubborn when needed to be and delicate in other times, Susannah Bennett was frustratingly, primly retricent when it came to making personal revelations.

And although Sheila knew a great many things about her, it seemed she knew nothing important about her.

"It is in our blood to feel pain." Picking the flower from the ground ignoring the digging of the thornes, Susannah reached it out to Sheila. "To deny our blood however only yields more pain."

* * *

There are currently fifty- seven living Bennett's in the United States. They are the cousins never brought to light, discarded, second and distant. And Susannah can feel them all, feel them as easily as she can feel herself.

One of them is probably going to die within the week: Leo Bennett. His problems, and joys, nights and noontimes- are close to ended.

There are others to worry about: Devon Bennett Lee, son of Annie, born prematurely nine days ago. He is small but he will live, he will grow taller and wider and learn to ride a bike. He will eventually control his asthma. He will eventually die. They will all eventually die.

Alissa Dion, daughter of Corina Bennett, She stands by her husband, watching him fight for his life. She is praying- not to anyone in particular- but her earnest praying, like none Susannah has known, is also punctuated with vague threats. Her eyes are like fire as she threatens God.

"I swear," She whispers. "I fucking swear, if you take him-" She puts a hand over her mouth and hot tears well in the corners of her eyes. Susannah in her unseen form, reaches down and places her hand on Alissa's forehead. She cannot save her husband, but she can save Alissa from nightmares, at least for tonight.

Julian- youngest son of David Bennett- is in love for the first time. He is exceptionally tall in a way that his father was not, and has more power in him then his father ever did.

Susannah sits with him in his room for a while, as Julian stares at candid pictures of Shonda on the screen of his tablet. In the video he captured she is all smiles. Julian's thoughts are rather innocent for a boy of nineteen, and Susannah is struck- she's always struck, it seems, these days- at their sincerity. Julian is imagining what their children would look like, with Shonda's thick curls and infectious grin, and his eyes. Susannah can picture them too, easily.

She visits all the infants, the Bennett children in their cribs and cradles. So she stands over them, using astral projection. There are nine children. She focuses on them for a week, following them to daycare and pre-school and to the homes of relatives and friends.

Susannah watches them laugh and clap and stuff toys in their mouths, and once pulls a small pair of fingers out of a light socket just in time. Susannah is far beyond caring what effect her actions have on the future, on what people call destiny: two thousand years ago she might have stood aside and let events play out, because of her surety in the grand design. There is still a design, she believes that firmly. Her faith is dented, not gone. She is simply willing to- as Shelia would say- fuck it all up if she feels like it. Muddy the waters. Color outside the lines.

She sits on a park bench in the small hours of the morning, watching the thin, high clouds pull apart slowly. And then in the moment before dawn there is a small sensation, a tug, barely even a ripple in her extended consciousness, but she knows. Fifty-six.

"Goodbye, Leo," She says, in the direction of the clouds. More will always come. The mantra: more will always come, and she'll be here.

* * *

The condition of the corpse was better than she had anticipated.

Wounds did not cover her body making her indistinguishable, no easy cause of death could clearly be identified. Except one thing was sure within her open eyes there was nothing behind them.

She could hear Bonnie screaming, yelling out words she couldn't even begin to process or understand nor would she be able to answer her. Her mouth was dry and open in shock, her jaw hanging loose.

When Susannah met her own eyes in the windows reflection from inside the kitchen, she had to look away from the terror, confusion, and primitive rage that she saw within them.

When the ambulance takes her away and Bonnie and Susannah are left in the house alone, tears falling freely from each others eyes.

"It's my fault."

"Bonnie-"

"I should have never begged her to help open the tomb." Her voice cracks as she places her hands on her face. "I should have listened to you and not opened it at all."

Susannah kicks out her legs in front of her, her eyes falling shut. "It's not your fault-"

"YES IT IS," Bonnie shouted, her loud voice causing the neighbors dog to shoot off into a frenzy of barks. "That's what is wrong with the world. That's exactly what's wrong. Nobody wants to be responsible for anything. Everybody wants to be and do anything they please, nobody wants to accept the consequences."

"You're right."

"These days if your life is screwed up, if you've failed your family and friends, it's never your fault. Your an alcoholic? Why maybe it's a genetic redisposition. A compulsive cheater, well maybe you never felt loved, maybe your parents never gave you all the cuddling you needed."

"Exactly," Susannah said.

"You just killed someone or abused your child? Why your not bad, no, you're not to blame! Your parents are to blame, your teachers are to blame, society is to blame, all of western culture is to blame, but not you, never you. How crass to suggest such a thing, how insensitive, how hopelessly old fashioned."

"You speak nothing but the truth," Susannah decided, a small bitter smile tugging at her lips.

"Fall in love with a vampire and drag your friends and family through hell to appease him and his psychopath brother? Oh it could never be her fault."

Her voice dies off in a tired whisper as she shakes with sobs. Everything inside of her pounding and burning.

"What I'm saying is," Bonnie finally speaks again her lips mouthing the words before she could process them. "Is that I don't want to be like that. When I'm responsible, I want to _ **choke**_ on my responsibility."

"I hear you."

"I am responsible for Grams's death."

"Whatever you say," Susannah said stroking her dark hair soothingly.

"If I had been smarter she still would be alive."

"Believe what you will," Letting her own tears fall to the floor.

"She's on my conscience."

"Okay."

Susannah rested her head next to Bonnie, snuggling the girl closer.

"I'm responsible."

"I'm sure you'll burn in hell for it."

Susannah felt Bonnie shake beside her. The laugh so sudden, that it quickly turned to more sobs.

Susannah lifted her arm to wrap around Bonnie more completely, the rough fabric of her jacket scratching her bare arm as the scent of herbs and flowers drifted to her nose. And so Susannah feeling Bonnie's pain so thoroughly did something she hadn't done in so long. She soothed over the emotional wound. Her magic flooded into Bonnie, lightly and unthreatening enough it didn't alert any of Bonnie's senses. And when the transferring was finished and Bonnie could finally breathe through her pain, Susannah was left ready to jump off the nearest bridge.

"It is not your fault that Grams is dead."

Sighing through her tears Bonnie raised her head. The inherent beauty that swelled in Susannah making her all the more resemble some kind of angel. She hadn't understood it when she was younger. The healthy glow of her light brown skin, and the delicate curve of her cheekbone, and her wide golden eyes made her stand out above all the rest.

Even now, with her long eyelashes clumped together by tears and her cheeks blotchy and red, she looked angelic. With freckles gathering to form a miniature constellation across her cheeks and nose, an inordiancy of features that created a celestial map.

"I don't know what to do anymore."

 _"Empaths cannot heal," Qetsiyah had once said. Her eyes dark, hooded. "But they can take another's pain and make it their own. And you want me to be happy, don't you? So do this for me, my darling creation."_

"Shhh," Susannah hummed lightly, combing through her dark hair with the utmost gentleness. "I will get you through this."

 **Fifty-five.**

* * *

The funeral had been a small somber affair.

Bonnie shielding her red rimmed eyes with large sunglasses while Susannah openly allowed tears to trail down her face. Their hands interlocked as they stared unmoving at the headstone lying in Sheila Bennett's place.

Susannah's ladies stood off to the sidelines, offering silent condolences.

"It's not fair."

"This world hardly is."

Falling to her knees before the tombstone, Susannah laid down a handful of roses at its base.

"Bonnie," The doppelganger spoke hesitantly, her lips trembling with some unknown emotion.

Lifting herself to her feet, Susannah fought the urge to throw something heavy at Elena's face in order to permanently disfigure it. The memories of the original doppelganger were far too angry to truly separate from the face, leaving Susannah with a burning hatred every time Elena came into sight.

Pushing down the anger that lathered her throat, Susannah stepped towards her. "Perhaps now isn't the time, Elena."

"But-"

"Elena, I will not repeat myself."

The doppelganger cowered from the sudden fire in Susannah's voice. "I just wanted to say I know you can get through this."

Immediately bowing her head in an unconscious act of submission and turning and leaving Bonnie with Susannah.

And if there was one thing Susannah wished Elena never would have said, that would be it. Susannah doubted Elena realized she just diminished Bonnie's pain, that her words weren't at all helpful...because of course Bonnie could get through it, she was strong and beautiful and effortless, but despite all that Bonnie needed to know it would be okay if she couldn't get through it. That she would still be loved if she didn't have the heart to let go.

Perhaps when the wound was somewhat covered such words would be welcomed, cherished even, but not now.

"Thank you," Bonnie said interlocking her arm with Susannah's. "I'm not ready to face her."

* * *

"Caroline's a vampire."

"I know."

Throwing a vase watching it shatter to the ground. "How could this happen?"

Susannah watched with empty eyes, washing the dish in front of her with repetitive circles.

"It feels as though everything is falling apart."

Rinsing the plate off and putting it on the drying rack, Susannah faced Bonnie. Her golden eyes fierce with a fire she'd never seen before.

"You do know that whatever happens you will get through this, right?"

Bonnie shook her head feeling lost and reeling from a pain she didn't know she would suffer if encountered by this problem. "I don't know anything anymore."

Falling to her knees, looking heavenward to avoid Bonnie's eyes.

"You do know there are worst things in this world."Tapping her hand against the floor, "She could be gone."

* * *

Kenia braided her hair with the utmost gentleness, looping Susannah's hair around itself into a beautiful decoration.

She had always had a talent for hair, even with herself. For Kenia's light brown hair was never thrown into a messy bun.

Sometimes it surprised Susannah that they had all chosen to stay by her side. She had given them the option, the opening they needed to leave. They hadn't been trapped in a coffin not the way Susannah was. They had a life all those years, a life without Susannah, and yet they stayed.

Kenia remaining the closest.

She was beautiful, high delicate cheek bones, small nose, pale skin, with deep blue eyes. She could have been royalty herself or perhaps a tall model who graced a cover of some foreign magazine.

But she had an infinite number of childhoods; her parents were happy, fighting, abusive or dead. Her father had been a high born noble, a thief, a murderer or unemployed. Her mother an adulterer, a governess, an at home care taker or a loose minded woman. She was an only child, brought up in a foster home or heir to a fortune.

It was never the same story.

And maybe that's why Kenia stuck so close. Because Susannah was the only one who knew the truth. Who could see behind the lies and still let her spin her webs for everyone else.

"I'm all done," Kenia said lightly, her voice holding a slight rasp to it.

Susannah stood dragging her feet until she was in front of the mirror, taking in how she looked.

It was not an idle or narcissistic endeavor, but one to remind her of what others would see.

The dress wasn't like much else she owned but had been tailored to her figure quite precisely. The tailor had worked wonders to make her look slightly taller, sophisticated, and refined. The dark blue of the dress seemed to shimmer black as she moved, her hair braided into a crown.

"Thank you, Kenia."

Stepping away she fought the shaking in her hands.

* * *

Susannah had felt the other Bennett the second she entered town, her powers and blood calling to Susannah like some ancient dance or summoning ritual.

"You are-" Lucy backed up into the wall behind her, her lips parting as she rushed in breath after breath of cold air.

"I am glad you know who I am Lucy," Susannah said gently. Walking over to the girl and bringing her hand up to soothe over the side of her face. She nearly flinched when she felt fear coiling beneath her skin.

"How-"

"It doesn't matter." Bringing her hand beneath Lucy's chin forcing her dark brown eyes away from hers. "You will relinquish the spell you have cast, am I understood."

Lucy swallowed her hand coming to ghost over where Susannah touched her. "I can't-"

"You can and you will." Closing her eyes and reopening them with a sigh, Susannah smiled coldly. "Now if you will."

Lucy immediately relinquished her magical grip on the spell, feeling the new power take its place.

The warm ties letting her know another Bennett was here. "Who else is here?"

"Bonnie Bennett."

"A family reunion then?" Lucy asked with a sigh.

"So it seems."

With one last look, Susannah took off outside, already missing the comforting air that nature provided. Tapping her foot, the exposure that the dress offered of her skin making her feel naked.

"Susannah," The breathy voice of the latest doppelganger came from behind her.

She opened her mouth to say something when Susannah felt something rough slam into the back of her head. Falling to the ground, she could hear the pleas of the doppelganger as she was lifted into the air and dragged further into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Edited**

* * *

A sharp jagged breath shoots out of her lungs as she woke in a cold sweat.

It took her a moment to realize that she was very much alive unless heaven was seriously downplaying itself by looking like an attic. A thick coating of dust and mold shames everything, cobwebs hanging in the many corners. The staircase slapped to the ground and uncommonly narrow, the rail a simple plank of wood supported by three spindles.

Sluggishly turning her head and allowing her eyes to scan the room, Susannah licks her chapped lips tasting her own blood. Beside her is the doppelganger, unconscious with a red handprint marked on her cheek.

She could escape.

Looking at the two vampires who paraded around, they were older, she guessed, older than the Salvatore's.

"Finally you're awake, I was beginning to worry," An oil slickened voice drawls lazily, he leans towards her so much so she can smell the blood on his breath, his dark hair falling in front of his forehead. His eyes glittering, filled with malicious intent.

"Who are you?" Susannah asked unable to keep the quiver out of her voice. The ruffled collar of her dress felt like it was choking her.

"Trevor," He said with a wide grin, "and that over there is my darling Rose."

The girl, Rose, scoffed and a small smile tugged at her lips but quickly was washed away.

"Why am I here?"

Trevor's sickly grin widened, "Haven't you heard? There has been whispers about your awakening. And yet no one could find you. It's like you crawled out of the ground and disappeared. Imagine my surprise when we finally find you with the doppelganger of all people."

She didn't flinch when his cold, cruel hand grabbed her shoulder, fingers digging into the smooth skin like claws sinking into flesh.

The touch unwittingly thrust her into his mind, were feelings of being chained, desolate and sad, the fight dwindling into nothing- so very close to true brokenness and defeat. Susannah was staring at Trevor and through him, outwardly she looked as if it didn't bother her, but within she is shaking. An empty doll who has been put on the shelf and forgotten. Insignificant. Unimportant...inferior.

"Ahh so you do know who I am." Susannah leans back raising her chin struggling to regain herself and create the necessary barriers between her consciousness and Trevor's. "Then you should know not to overstep your boundaries, Trevor. I am much more vicious than I look, I promise you so."

Rose steps forward, gripping Trevor's arm with unease, throwing Susannah futile glances to make sure she doesn't move before she leaves to dart off downstairs.

Elena chose that moment to find reality again, gently touching her swollen cheek with those wide doe like eyes of hers. She pushes herself as close as humanly possible to Susannah, and Susannah nearly wanted to jump out of her own skin. The fear dripping through her veins like icy liquid. It pounded through her head and her heart- it was all just too much, and it wasn't even hers to begin with. She could barely stand to be around vampires in general, with all their heightened emotions dancing in the air and slamming themselves into Susannah. Brimming with feelings that just aren't being solved.

It was all so very much and she greatly desired for it to be over soon.

Trevor, blocks off one of the only escape areas with his body, he is tense and pacing- but most of all he is scared.

It makes her teeth hurt.

Just as soon as Susannah manages to calm herself, the reason for all the fear arrives as silently as a shadow.

"Hello, Trevor," A smile curves the lines of the man- no not _man_ , vampire's face.

Susannah's eyes flicker over his features, sharp cheekbones, neatly combed hair and shadowed eyes.

Her gaze lowers to his nose and settles there.

From a human's perspective, this person looks like an elegant, professional, and formal king carved from stone.

From a vampire's perspective, all that can be seen is a brutal beast lying beneath a carefully carved mask. He may as well be a demon from hell with the way the light puddled down onto his features, too desirable to all.

 _And then Elijah Mikaelson froze._

A ripple of pure energy.

It was something like he never felt before. The energy was caressing his skin, tickling his body, poking into his consciousness. His first instinct was to find the source, the source of this alien power.

"Elijah-" Trevor stuttered only to be cut off by a surprised gasp.

Rigidly, Elijah turns to face the interruption, his annoyance funneling into a sharp gaze. His eyes don't slacken when he sees her but something shifts behind them.

There is no safe haven for Susannah to draw away to, and thus, she has chosen to draw into herself. Her hair is frazzled piled atop her head in a haphazard knot; damp with nervous sweat at the hairline, wisps of curled bangs hastily swiped away from golden eyes by hands with bloody knuckles. Her teeth are barred, a row of straight, sharp teeth painted red by a split lip.

Elijah's keen eyes immediately make note of the darker patch of blood on her knees, the contusions filled with black muck.

The girl looked so impressive and demure like a pretty glass doll one should handle carefully otherwise she might break. How such a soft sweet girl could emit such a violent and fierce energy was beyond him.

His gaze slips upwards and finds himself being sized up, measured by the fury behind those golden eyes. There is a predator living inside that skull-or, at the very least, anger enough to fuel one.

He moved deliberately slow, every step calculated and echoing around the room-all eyes completely enthralled with him.

The smile she gives him is the same one a child would give when meeting a stranger, not scared but not relaxed enough to be genuine.

"Hello, Child of Qetsiyah," Elijah's silken voice is quieted down to a mere whisper, carrying a heavy European inflection. Dressed as if he is unaffected by his surroundings.

Despite being right beside the two, Elena can hardly make out the vampire's words.

Every rise and fall of Susannah's chest being documented in his eyes. He leans down, invading her personal space. She breathes out harshly, and it isn't frightened, he smells no fear from her skin. But there is a helplessness to it.

"You seem to have injured your hand." The man adds amicably.

The silence deepens. Susannah can't help but hold her breath She looks down at her hand, at her swollen knuckles. The stinging is bearable, not too painful, so she shurgs.

"Well, I am waiting with bated breath to hear that silver tongue of yours _, your grace_."

There is a pause, the air surrounding them stagnant.

A shudder vibrates between the space of them. Primal and dangerous.

And with a blink it is all locked away, sealed tightly inside of the original. Left behind is someone who seems to be far too in control of the situation.

"You're an original," Susannah told him candidly. She could feel it. Something in this ancient vampire's eyes, raw power filtering out through his gaze.

"Power recognizes power, is that it?" Elijah asked her.

"I prefer the simple explanation of keen observation."

That voice, all soft and low and warm all melted together in a velvety whisper- completely undoing his carefully maintained resolve. A rare smile teases his lips but only for a second, long enough for her to take into account.

When he steps away to face Trevor his face hardens into stone once again.

Letting out a loose breath, Susannah cringes away from the hard stare of Elena Gilbert. She can feel it, digging into her skin, imploring her for answers she doesn't have. Answers Elena somehow thinks she's entitled to know. But somehow the judgmental capability of her eyes made her feel like a traitor.

Taking a second to examine the doppelganger besides her, leaning down he inhales near the doppelganger's neck, smelling the blood that rushed vigorously beneath the thin membrane of her skin.

"Hello there," Elijah's voice was clear but, Susannah noted, eerily void of personality. So perfectly genteel that one felt an automatic urge to sit up straighter, give him an adoring look.

"We all have a long journey ahead of us," Elijah glances down at Elena for a second before staring at Susannah with barely concealed eagerness. "We should be going."

"Please don't let him take me," Elena whined, her eyes growing watery. Her lips curved into a small pout as she focuses her eyes on Rose. Whimpering out a small sound.

"One last piece of business and we're done."

Turning on his heel he walks towards Trevor, there was a grin present in the lines around his eyes, like a cat, who'd got the mouse.

Trevor forces himself to remain still, to not run, to flee."I've waited so long for this day, Elijah. Truly, I am sorry."

"No your apology is not necessary."

"Yes, it is," Elijah had begun circling Trevor, his every step slow. "You trusted me with Katerina and I failed you."

"I suppose you are the guilty one." Tapping his foot rhythmically on the ground he slowly moves directly in front of Trevor, so the younger vampire is forced to stare into his eyes. "Rose aided you because she was loyal. See that I honor. Where was your loyalty?"

"I beg your forgiveness."

Elijah's jaw twitched, the only hint of the great leviathan that lived violently beneath his skin. " Do you not agree that every action has a consequence?"

"I- I have lived with the consequences of my actions! Everyday I have suffered." Trevor snapped his voice rising and echoing in the air. For a passing second he looked as if his anger would give way to tears. Susannah's hand clenched into a fist, whatever hope Trevor had of survival was now firmly washed away. Susannah had a feeling discourtesy was not something easily tolerated by the original.

" _Is that so_?" Elijah hummed, so disarmingly, nodding his head toward Susannah he continues "And where is her apology, for the pain and distress you have caused Susannah? Treating royalty as though she is nothing more than a rat in the passageways."

And there was her name, said with no ordinary voice.

Shrinking away from the sudden attention Trevor afforded Susannah, his eyes so dreadfully trailed with absolute fear and pain. His face was so pale, but his stare held her. Trevor truly believed her influence could save him. It made her squirm- she didn't have that kind of power not in this situation anyways.

"I-I sincerely apologize for my part in causing you discomfort-"

"Discomfort." Elijah chuckled twisting his ring around his finger," So your treatment of her was simply discomfort?"

No answer would be good enough. Nothing Trevor could possibly say would be good enough- no matter the string of eloquence he tried to entangle in the combination of words he attempted to form.

"No-That's not what I meant."

"Is that so?" Elijah adjusted his cufflinks, dragging his tongue across his plump bottom lip. "Then what exactly did you mean?"

"I-I'm sorry- I didn't mean for her to get hurt- I- I-"

His words never got the ending they deserved because soon enough his head was just another item rolling around with the dirt on the floor.

Susannah heard Elena cry out- saw Rose move forward, agony lying openly on her face. But as for herself she was-breathless.

 _Trevor was on thin ice and it seems the ice has just shattered beneath his feet._

Dark brown eyes- the eyes of a killer. His thinly veiled hunger was so pronounced, simmering just beneath the surface of his perfect facade. It seemed so familiar-but even then she could not recall a single time in her life when anyone had looked at her with such intensity. And yet...why? Why did it feel like his eyes were calling Susannah to him- and she desperately wanted to answer?

Her stomach flopped, guilt settling on her chest for a crime she didn't commit.

"You-"

"Don't Rose," Elijah waves his hand dismissively," You have earned your freedom."

He said freedom so offhandedly as if it hadn't been something he had openly been restricting.

Perhaps it was because the full force of the situation had not yet hit her, but all Susannah felt capable of doing was hovering near the couch. Vaguely she could hear voices speaking outside of the bubble she had wrapped herself in, but she held no desire to engage in their pointless talking. She couldn't.

Not when every last emotion Trevor had felt during his death were clinging to her skin. Climbing through her veins, chaining her mind. She could feel her hands shaking as she no longer was Susannah, and became Trevor.

And it hurt. It felt as if her own head had been removed. Because the curse of empathy hurt. When you feel connected to everything, it's almost impossible to turn away. And she was just in so much pain, and exhausted, and fearful. And Trevor deep down knew, he knew Elijah wouldn't forgive him, but he needed to hope, to believe for Rose. And to have that hope burned away it just- it was too consuming.

 _I am Susannah. I am Susannah. I am Susannah._

Flinching only when a necklace flew past her, bringing her hands to her temples trying to fight off the incoming headache, enough to draw Elijah's attention.

He quickly averted his eyes once again, only to stare into the doppelgangers eyes, compelling Elena.

Grabbing Elena and dragging her forward like a rag doll, he latched his hand around Susannah's upper arm. She felt frail beneath his grip. And immediately wanted to whimper when Elijah's excitement surged through her veins.

Licking his lips, Elijah bit back a chuckle but didn't bother trying to hide the amusement that lightened his eyes.

The next few minutes however slow or long they were hazed over Susannah's only thing that seemed to be permanently cemented was the image of a broken off coat hanger pinning Elijah to the wall.

Elena opened her mouth but Susannah found she really didn't want to hear the next few words this girl wanted to say- so she lifted her hand, effectively silencing her.

"Go."

Elena stood her mouth gaping open.

"I can't just leave you."

Susannah raised an eyebrow, "You can and you will."

The abandoned house is dark and empty and Susannah's head is full to bursting with someone else's love. She'd felt it like walking into a hot, closed room filled to the brim with dried perfumed flowers- a thick tide of scent you could almost taste, so wrapped by heat and closeness and sheer mass that it ceased to resemble perfume at all. She couldn't stand it. The nauseating impact of pain, the jealousy from Damon, and Trevor- God- Trevor was just beneath her skin. She could breathe him still.

Swallowing audibly, Elena held her head up high enough to flip her hair and walk away. The Salvatore brothers just on her heels, like always. Susannah's stomach flopping uncomfortably when she met Stefan's familiar eyes. The eyes of her father.

Then Elena stops, turning and facing Susannah. "How did he know-"

"I don't know."

Waiting until she could hear the car start and drive away, Susannah began to work.

Swallowing down the bile that slickened her throat she placed her hand on Elijah's unbeaten chest and pulled out the stake pinning him.

It hadn't been an easy task- leaving her arms aching as she laid his body as gently as she could manage on the floor.

If someone had asked her at this very moment what motivated her to slide her fingers over the curve of his lip, parting them- her voice would die out in embarrassment, fully unable to muster even the simplest of answers.

Elijah's hand shot out and clenched around her hand- the hand that gently caressed his lips, restraining her from making any free movements.

Susannah's heart jerked, pounding painfully against her rib cage the longer she stared into his now opened eyes. Breaking the connection by closing her eyes she immediately attempted to struggle out of his grasp.

"Release me."

"No." The smirk he wore was punctuated in his tone as his other arm moved to snake around her waist, pulling them closer together.

Leaning forward until she could feel his cool breath against her lips, causing- for some inexplicable reason- her knees to go weak. His thumb massaging comforting circles on the back of her hand, his touch coaxing out a choked gasp.

Shaking her head hard enough that the ends of her hair hit her cheeks, she feebly struggles against his iron hold. If even possible he seems to tighten his hold even further, until she was pressed flush against him. And Trevor's fear of Elijah is making her dizzy and more conflicted then she already was.

"It is true then, you are the daughter of the-"

"No." She immediately denied, her head reeling as she thought about burning his hands to get him to remove them.

"I don't like lies."

He crooned, his lips brushing against her ear. She had opened her eyes, and they were stark as she gazed up at him. The corner of the ancient vampire's mouth twitching upwards as he stared down at her.

 _She was so lovely._

His smile reveals a sharp set of canines. "Pardon the blood."

Those haunted eyes. Those rosebud lips.

Her teeth sunk down into the soft flesh of her lower lip to keep it from quivering as his tall frame bent closer down to her; he trailed his fingers along her jaw, forcing her to look directly at him.

"You're not human, not in the way other witches are. You have a heart that beats but even so there is something more." That velvety, terrifyingly sadistic voice sent shivers racing down her spine. She wasn't scared he would hurt her. No, she feared him because something inside of her was telling her that she had no choice but to stay by his side.

"What are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Edited**

* * *

He reminds her of a spider. His eyes a deep brown that seemed to catch the little bit of light in the room and gleam red, his mouth positioned in a small smile as if the whole situation was amusing.

Susannah didn't like this.

She felt cornered, skittish, and had a great desire to get as far away from Elijah Mikaelson as possible.

"Well," He prodded, the smile was now gone and his expression was carefully placed- so incomprehensible that Susannah can barely stand to look at him, can't begin to parse out all she sees when she looks deeper.

"Daughter of the great Qetsiyah."

His voice was low and deep, wrapping around her senses like fog and steel all at once, vibrating in the quiet surrounding them.

"Tell me if the ancient lore is true?"

Flexing her fingers she could feel her power move beneath the surface of her skin.

Elijah must of felt the change in the air, the echo of power that reverberated around the room. Because his spine straightened, his movements confident and refined, like he knows he will not disappoint if a challenge is to pass.

"Do not waste your gifts on me, I have no desire to hurt you." He said with a gentle caress, practically fondling her hair. It would of been comforting had it been literally anyone else.

Her mind went blank with swear words she sas unwilling to release.

She allowed him to move closer, offering no struggle whatsoever. Though the way she leaned away from his face was a fine indicator of the unease he caused her. It was clear that the courteous and impeccable pretense of his would not work on her, though he supposed it never truly had. It only made her all the more wary.

 _How curious._

"I am Elijah Mikaelson," He formally introduced himself with a charming upturn of his lips. Her scent nearly made his fangs pierce his tongue, It had taken all of his control not to bury his face in the crook of her neck just to get close to the wonderful thing she had rushing through her veins.

"I believe a proper introduction is required. Your name, miss?"

It's a request disguised as a command and the following silence is much too dismissive for Elijah's liking.

"It is an awful display of manners for a lady to ignore someone who is speaking to them."

No response other than a twitch of her nose.

"Answer me."

No blush stained her cheeks at his proximity, she was young- twenty, twenty-five at the most. (But if he was correct, which he knew he was, Susannah was far beyond that). He didn't care, not necessarily, but normally he could tell. She...Elijah couldn't get a proper read on her at all.

Defiance dances in the hardness of her eyes.

So firey and angry and savage, Elijah can only find himself fascinated. "Gold," he murmurs to himself. "On fire from the inside."

She pushes him away as hard as her physical body can manage, which, admittedly wasn't much.

"You," Susannah whispers, her words are sharp and her mouth twitches, "You do not command me."

"Is that so, _pet?_ " He's still close enough that his breath brushes her cheek, its patronizing in a subtle way. But again his voice is dry. Nothing really in it, except a derisive edge that makes her fingers ball into fist.

"You're not allowed." The hairs at the back of his neck are soft and prickly, rising in anticipation. Her voice was just as soft and unassuming as her appearance. Its timbre was dulcet and feminine, but sober. "You don't have the right."

Elijah nods, a dash of intrigue dancing in his eyes, shifting closer.

"You do realize _who_ I come from, Mr. Mikaelson?" She asks, low and with false calm. When she looks up he has no doubt a lesser man would have shrunk away from that gaze.

Elijah wondered if these little bursts of aggression were usually effective for her; they had to be, or else Susannah would've found a new strategy to deflect people's attention. He imagined that others view her as something that needed to be avoided.

The ancient vampire glared at her before veiling it with a smile.

"Such a rarity before my eyes."

She felt the words burn her flesh like a lash.

"I'm not an object."

"Calm yourself, pet, just an observation, no need to take personal offense." She looks out of place among the ruins of this abandoned house. Her eyes now dispassionate. Even with her dark curls wild and dirt and blood smudging her skin. "Although I am curious to know why you stayed."

Susannah attempts to pulls back, frozen."What?"

"You know that I am an original," he paused thoughtfully, "Though you knew that the second you saw me, I persume."

She nodded.

"So you knew a simple makeshift stake would do virtually no harm to me." Twisting his simple band around his finger, his face doesn't change before he speaks again. "You knew of my nature and yet stayed. I want to know why?'

Susannah raised a brow, opening her mouth to speak when the sound of a shrill ringtone crashed into the still air.

Standing Elijah digs into his pocket and pulls out the device. He answers quickly and Susannah watches as he transforms attentive as a rabbit is to the movements of a fox.

His jaw stiffened, suddenly incensed. His tongue clicked against his teeth disapprovingly in annoyance.

"Are you certain?" He finally speaks, nothing of his voice speaks of his irritation. With a sigh, he nods and then murmurs out, "Contact me if anything else is to arise." He hangs up quickly and shoves the phone back in his pocket.

Elijah's gaze wasting no time finding their way back to her. For the first time tonight he gets to truly appreciate how stunning she is. He had been peculiarly conscious of how close she had been to him. His eyes roaming boldly over her form. Stopping to appreciate her toned legs, wide hips, rounded chest, and full lips. The aesthetics of her rather pleasant.

He only lifted his eyes when she coughed.

Offering his hand down to her, his eyes dark as night, his lips tipped up arrogantly, "Come along now pet."

"To were?" She replies immediately, completely disregarding his hand.

"To Mystic Falls." He licks his lips, his voice mocking, "Is that not were you reside?"

"I don't need any help getting there, I assure you."

"No?" Elijah comments with an odd gleam in his eye. "Will you walk _all alone_ into the darkness then, with creatures of all kinds lurking?" He moves like he's circling her, like he did with Trevor. The only difference being she isn't _fucking_ prey.

"If anything," Susannah bites out, "I wouldn't think my welfare is of any concern to you."

And when she stands he is thrown at how small she is compared to him. Below the top of his shoulder in height. Stepping backward so she wouldn't have to crane her neck to look at him, she tries to tug her hand from his grip. Elijah does not relinquish his hold and merely grins at her struggles.

Lifting her hand to his lips instead, pressing a firm yet gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"It is an absolute delight and honor to meet you."

Jerking her hand from his grip she tosses him a scathing look. "I wish I could say the same."

The air grew stagnant. Running his tongue so easily over his teeth, his eyes glued to her neck.

The silent implication was clear.

"Now, now," Elijah said mockingly, "I wouldn't take that tone, pet, It's unsightly for someone as pretty as yourself."

She felt a rush of cold build in her stomach. This man- no not man, vampire- was dangerous. She shouldn't take him lightly.

"You won't kill me."

"Oh?"

"I know you won't."

Elijah leaned back on his dominant foot, "What is stopping me? You are all alone with no one around for miles- no one to hear you scream. No one to come save you." His words drip out like liquid gold, soothing over the air in such a disarming manner.

"Do not insult me, Mr. Mikaelson, by assuming I need someone to save me." Susannah seems to make a sudden calculation as she steps forward. "You mistake my trust in your civility for the expectation of it."

Elijah bristles, as much as a man like Elijah ever bristles.

He pauses running his eyes over the determined set of her mouth. She stepped closer, a challenging predator who knew no fear, who had been torn apart so many times in so many ways that she knew how far she could push, how much she could survive.

"Are you always so arrogant to think you are automatically deserving of my respect?"

His answering smile is sharp and Susannah's eyes are drawn to the tip of his exposed canine. It makes him look quite fierce, she doesn't know why that appeals to her so much.

"Consider your words carefully before you speak again," Elijah warns. His hand flexed into a fist but immediately released, even though the frustration stayed.

"You believe you are being...merciful," Susannah finally says. Her fingers curl tightly around her arms. Her shoulders tense up, roll back. "I know that's what you consider this. I see it in your eyes."

Elijah cocks his head to the side. "You find that...frightening," he says trying to decipher the precise tightness of Susannah's mouth.

"It means you considered doing something else first," Susannah murmurs. The words land like a stone dropped in a frozen lake. "I will grant you civility, but respect is earned."

She turned and walked towards the exit, not caring to know if Elijah was following her. He waited for a second looking at the ground with an unusual smile. That was all the time he needed before he followed her to the world outside.

The air was cool and he watched aptly as Susannah hugged herself. Her feet were bare and her dress ripped, but Elijah still only found her lovely. The essence of Susannah in her entirety was beautiful. Nature must adore her so...because the ground recognizes her tread, perking up as her toes swipe against the rough grass. Because, when she walks, the wind blows to assist her forward, the trees swaying to her subdued hums. Because the molecules she breathes are alight with something else. Something powerful.

He finds even his own eyes dancing to the sway of her hips as the air changes with her passing through.

* * *

The car ride is mostly silent and Susannah finds herself unable to truly relax. Stealing glances of Elijah from the corner of her eye. He is powerful. A kind of understated power that wraps itself around him. This car seems stupidly small now, with its extremely limited options for ignoring the person- being- near her.

Squeezing her arms around herself she breathes out a sigh.

"How did you know who I was?"

Oh, if his picture of innocence wasn't muddled by the entertained, glowing eyes and pointed teeth. Elijah doesn't fully look at her when he answers, an oddly enough she finds herself mildly disappointed at that. He lets her question linger in the air, a purposeful gesture, of that she is sure.

"The air around you told me."

Her golden eyes fastened to his profile, her curiosity building like a cat fixated on its prey.

"What does that mean?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's my turn."

Lifting her chin, she shoots him a blazing gaze her cheeks reddening in sudden anger. She felt as if she walked right into a trap. "I didn't realize we were playing a game."

"A mistake solely on your part."

She narrows her eyes, fidgeting openly in her seat. Keenly aware of how long she does so before she concedes. "Fine."

"Why did you stay behind with the knowledge of who you would be left with?"

"I would like to arrange a bargain with you before I answer," Susannah countered ever so quickly.

She watched interested as Elijah leaned towards her slightly and breathed in the air as if trying to understand Susannah through her scent. The intrigued expression making his bland face look alive.

Her teeth worry her lower lip, and some of the blood is swiped away. Susannah seems entirely unconscious of it as her lips press together, redistributing the blood, as Elijah had seen women do a thousand times, and has never caught his attention before now.

"I don't believe you're in any position to offer anything to me, if that's what you are implying," was his blunt answer as his fingers tapped against the steering wheel.

"In terms of status and wealth, you are correct."

"However?"

"I am in the position to refuse you," Susannah says quietly. It echoes off the glass of the car windows.

Elijah tilts his head just so, and remains quite still otherwise.

"Furthermore the doppelganger believes you to be dead...it goes without saying, that is an advantageous position for you to be in."

"I'm in an advantageous position regardless," Elijah responded, entirely unbothered.

Susannah slips her bag off her shoulder and lowers it to the car floor. The strap falls away from her, coiling like a serpent around her feet. Perhaps she is unburdening herself in preparation to run. Or perhaps it is a show of trust- dropping what juvenile weapon she might of had in the form of heavy weight. Her intentions are a mystery.

"You want something from me."

"I want many things." And it's not entirely a lie.

Susannah takes a breath and lets it out. There is a crack of vulnerability in her armor, the threat that looms at the edge of her awareness recognizes the predator/ prey dynamic. Susannah senses something larger than her in the car, and she knows it has teeth.

Her awareness alone is worthy of Elijah's respect.

Her voice goes quiet. Her answering, flickering smile is pained. "Everyone wants something from me."

If Elijah were a more simple man, the display might arouse a protective instinct. It's vulnerable. It's flattering. It's uncertain.

And there is a light in Susannah's eyes that says it is entirely dishonest.

Elijah smiles then, truly- he finds honest appreciation in Susannah's deception. Wilting flower, indeed. She seeks to force action from Elijah by painting herself in such a light.

Any usual predator would pounce. And any genuine soul would reassure her.

Susannah seeks to bluff him into folding.

"I find you fascinating, sweet Susannah," Elijah says. And she immediately wanted to change her name. She wanted to shed her skin. His eyes and words striking her unnaturally deep. And she felt scared, like a scared child all over again. Susannah's fingernails tap against the window. Her hair tips to the side and pulls a tidal wave of curls with it. It's coy. Coquettish. And when she smiles she hides her fear behind amusement.

"I know you want something because you intended to take me right along with the doppelganger. So what is it? I'm pretty and you want a thrill?"

Elijah barks out a laugh. The concept is ludicrous- and yet. "And if I told you that was exactly it?"

Red lips bare white teeth, and Susannah's eyes are shards of glass.

"I'd say I have something far more interesting to offer you."

When she speaks again her voice is a rumble- not the smooth sweet intonation from before. And when she speaks she hemorrhages things she cannot possibly know. Each word is picked and precise, but flows into the next.

"You swam this morning. In a indoor pool. It was early in the morning and you were alone."

Elijah raised an eyebrow confused, but even more interested.

"Correct."

"You own a house not to far off from here, its inconspicuous and you rarely use it. But you were there before you came here. You have pots of herbs in your kitchen. Sweet basil, Rosemary, Sage...all the usual French cuisine suspects. None of the ingredients inside your house comes from mass production."

"I enjoy culinary arts," Elijah said, his heart and mind more alive than it had been in years.

"Half-truth," Susannah stated, again alarmingly accurate. "Shall I go on?"

"Please."

"You sat in your office the day before." Susannah's eyes fluttered shut, as if recalling something she'd seen. "A spacious place with a private library, leather chairs, and a fireplace. Solid wood furniture and a few oil paintings- both from the mid-nineteenth century based on the varnish and paint composition. After you got the call from Rose, you began researching me. Then you wrote something down in your journal with a 4B pencil, sharpened with a metal handle blade, probably a scalpel. You had a wood fire going. When you were done you straightened your notes, and went to bed, although you only slept like two hours."

Susannah held her hands up, like she was touching something invisible.

"You passed your usual aftershave and picked up the one you wear when you intend to make an impression. You have a sandalwood based cologne for formal occasions, and you've used it this past weekend. Then you stepped inside your walk in closet, passed the tailored suits and silk ties you favor, and picked your current outfit from the back. It's one of your more casual suits- the only one that doesn't need dry cleaning. You only take it out when you want to blend in. Normally, you don't bother. But not today. Today called for a different kind of performance."

Susannah opened her eyes and met Elijah's gaze head on.

"I could say more- about your professional grade kitchen full of stainless steel appliances, your spotless house with every frame and decorative item perfectly aligned, your meticulous habits. But it won't be necessary, right?"

Elijah kept his expression impassive as shockwaves of thrill racked through his body. This wasn't Susannah showing off her abilities, no this was a warning. That no matter how good Elijah may think he was at understanding a person, Susannah was better.

Elijah has captured a glimpse of a divine creature of the Gods.

Empathy. That is her gift. Pure, unaided empathy. The ability of Susannah to place herself in the bones of another and ride the waves of their minds.

And she is beautiful.

"Astounding." Elijah says honestly.

Susannah's hands falter. Her grip falling slack into her lap. "Excuse me?"

"I said you were astounding. The very process of reconstruction," Elijah says thoughtfully. He knows Susannah heard him the first time; knows Susannah is floored and displaced by the words from the flutter of her lashes. "You step sideways from out of your own view and into someone else's."

"Most people tell me it's terrifying. Unsettling at best."

"So that was what you were trying to do, unsettle me." Elijah acknowledges. The reply is ostensibly uttered in his customary deadpan voice; but if Susannah were less preoccupied with her own revelations, she would have undoubtedly detected a flicker of energy. "That sort of ability could be a helpful tool for later."

She scowled. "Typical survivalist thinking."

He moves his hand closer to her and is pleased when Susannah doesn't budge an inch. Defiant until the end. "Most would find it terrifying to hear their voice coming from another's mouth. Do they fear what you will see inside them, I wonder?"

Susannah grits her teeth. "Do you fear what I'd see in you if I looked much deeper?"

"I have no qualms about the contents of my character," Elijah replies, and reaches out. Susannah watches him like a hawk, but goes silent and still when Elijah skims her necklace with one finger, mere inches from her sternum.

"It's truly and interesting gift. You can assume any point of view. You can see the world through the eyes of nearly any person. You can experience and cherish things that most can't even imagine."

"Sometimes people try to protect themselves by locking the monster in. I feel those too."

But Elijah doesn't touch her, not really.

Susannah's pupils dilate with either arousal or adrenaline, perhaps both. "I know what to expect from myself. Though I keep finding myself surprised by you."

When Susannah speaks again, it's neither her soft persona or her inner predator whose voice Susannah hears- it's something in between. A little bit of both. "So you are trying to pursue me, is that it?"

So gratingly, delightfully rude.

"Not at all," Elijah says into the slip of space between them. "Though if I decide to start, Susannah, I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

"Liar," Susannah murmurs. Her eyes bright and fierce.

Lightening cracks through his veins, through his mind. It's been years since an opponent managed to stimulate his thoughts, to offer any challenge at all.

It's a strange and dangerous thought.

"Why are you so reluctant to think I won't hurt you? If you can see me as clearly as you claim, I would assume you would be more relaxed," Elijah asks quietly, almost so much so it could be categorized as a whisper. The question causes her to flinch and she immediately regrets doing so.

"Considering you did threaten me-"

"There's more to it," he replied simply, surely.

"You don't make me feel safe," she snaps bluntly.

Elijah blinked.

"Fair enough. What if I decline?" Elijah took advantage of her contemplating silence and moved swiftly. Closing in, he settled his hand a hair above hers, merely ghosting her skin.

"What if I tell the doppelganger and her friends that the coat hanger they stuck you against the wall with didn't kill you?" She inclined her head, tugging at the lace of her dress. Tapping her bare feet against the car flooring as she raised an eyebrow.

Elijah smiled. She couldn't tell if it was genuine, but it made her skin crawl knowing she was the one who put it there. "What are the terms of this bargain."

Susannah's meets his eyes easily. And Elijah finds himself thrown when he is the one forced to tear away from the gaze to focus on the road. She clears her throat daintily, and peers at the ancient vampire through long lashes.

"I need you to stay close to me."

Elijah continued his rhythmic tapping on the steering wheel unchanged, seemingly unbothered. "Your request is rather unorthodox. Is there something else you are after?" His voice was laced with a callous sentiment and his eyes were no better.

"If you must know there are people after me."

He openly grinned at her, which only earned him a ghost of a scowl.

"What you desire is protection then?" Elijah clarified.

"No, more like a mask."

"A mask?"

She nodded, "Your aura is very potent and unnaturally large. It shrouds miles of land, I am nearly invisible."

He chuckled, "It seems I have found my answer as to why you stayed. So it appears you need the aid of such a vile creature as myself, pet."

"Do not taunt me or attempt to provoke me."

The smaller of the two barely sparing him a glance.

Elijah's eyes raised slightly in surprise. It was rare for a person to speak to him in such a sharp manner, especially knowing what he was. His mind processed the information he has been given, from what he had gathered she had no real interest in him or his family, just simple self preservation.

He could understand that.

"Very well. I will stay close to you, but I wish to know three things of you."

"Just three?"

"I reserve the right to ask for more," Elijah corrected.

"Within reason."

She stared silently, eyes dark, brow low. Looking like a snake sitting under a rock, waiting for a hand to come near.

"Your name, who your parents are, and why are you being hunted down?"

With that, his eyes lift and focus on her, and when they do she wishes she hadn't wanted him to look at her. There is an interest so deep it makes his face look alive and his eyes feel like daggers. His blood filling with a thick dark pleasure.

Focusing her eyes on the scenery around her. The street they had been driving on was a straight path and had been for quite some time. Susannah quickly took notice that Elijah was using no form of navigation and seemed entirely too comfortable knowing where he was going.

Her stomach immediately twisted.

"Won't you grant me the civility of an answer?"

He sighed, seemingly disappointed. But the deadly glimmer of interest in his eyes diverted that contradictory notion quickly.

"A name is nothing but a word," She reasoned.

"Perhaps, but I will need something to call you by."

Biting her tongue she whispers out," But you already know it, my name, you've said it once before."

Elijah chuckles deceptively warm.

"Is it a crime to want to hear your name from you and not the legends that uplift it?"

"My name is Susannah Bennett," her name felt odd on her tongue. There was no more simplicity between them. No more detachment. Because a name, her name, had the power to do a lot. Gone was the transparency. "and my parents are Silas and Qetsiyah."

A self satisfied smirk formed on his face. Arrogance swelling off his skin. "And why are you being hunted?" He needlessly reminded.

Would he believe her if she told him? Even she didn't fully their motives. It had been so wonderful... to see the night sky, to hear the mundane sounds of nature, and to simply move about on her own accord. Life as a stray had felt better than life as a queen. She could never again give up the delight of her senses. No, she had been stuck in a void long enough. Far too long.

"I don't really comprehend it myself...but I believe it has to do with what I am." Her voice grew soft and quiet.

"I have wondered what sort of creature you are, I haven't encountered a presence so strange before." Elijah lifted a hand up in an innocent gesture in response to her glare, as if to prove he was harmless. He dipped his head with elegance and grace and then focused back on the road. The bleak dark road that almost felt as if it was closing in.

"I...I'm not sure," She shrugged out honestly. It was true, she was something not meant to exist, which was probably why she lived the way she did. A memory came to mind of a time long ago.

 _"You are neither one thing, nor the either. An oxymoron in flesh..you are-"_

She took a deep breath, "Let's just say your brother and I are very similar." It sounded so weak, so fake.

Elijah stared at her openly. He finally smiled, a dimple in his chin exposing itself. "From this day on I will operate in the terms of this bargain."

"I need more than that."

His smile starts small but it reaches his eyes. "I won't lie to you, sweet Susannah," he speaks looking through his lashes. Not for the first time, the meager light makes his eyes look red. "I always keep my word."

She observes Elijah for a moment, the curve of his shoulder, the delicate grip of his hands on the steering wheel, the feathery fringe covering his forehead...

The strange glint in his eyes, a blacked-out window she can't quite see all the way through.

"Do I get your word as a man?"

"Yes."

"And what about your word as an original vampire?"

Elijah pauses at that and there was a delicious moment where his face washed blank with confusion, like his brain couldn't intake the information fast enough to remain completely collected. Every muscle of his body stiff until his eyes flashed with something unknown.

"I give you my word as both man and," he pauses, deliberately. " _other_."

"I guess I'll just have to believe you," she answers.

"You say that as though you don't trust me."

Susannah shrugs. "Can you blame me?"

Elijah doesn't answer.

She watches his hands convulse around the wheel, something nearly...angry in him. It was subtle, so subtle she doubted anyone else could tell but it seemed to tighten within him the closer they got to Mystic Falls.

"Being back here, it almost dampens the _sting_ , doesn't it?"

His eyes flash to hers, cold.

He won't lie to her, but he wasn't comfortable with her tugging at this particular string either. But Susannah needed to know how far she could push, how far until he struck out against her.

"I was counting on the symbolism of family to ease the symbolism of the past."

"Counting or simply hoping?" The words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them, as her mind rushes to piece together the connections.

He wants to kill his brother.

She wants to laugh. (He won't be able to do it).

"There is nothing simple about hope."

"There is," Susannah counters. "When the price has already been paid."

As if to show that Susannah isn't the only one who has the ability of high powered observation on their side he hits back. Subtle, she would expect nothing else, of course. "You were supposed to die the day Qetsiyah put you in that coffin, weren't you?"

"I was hoping I would die."

"Easier now to admit to hope?"

She nearly laughs. This man's manipulations are uncanny. She wonders if he affords everyone such meticulous inspection. Susannah pities them if he does.

"Didn't call it hope back then."

"What did you call it then?"

"Being locked in a coffin," she deadpanned. _I know that you are familiar with that feeling_."I needed closure. I was sure being put in that coffin wouldn't allow it."

"I assume many expectations were frusturated that day."

It seems Elijah Mikaelson knows more of her story then he initially let on. He knew that Qetsiyah intended to kill her and only by pure resistance did Susannah survive.

"Similar to how frustrations boil over everytime your brother digs that dagger in your back and puts you in that precious coffin with that gold plated label."

The air grows cold.

Tension rising a tenfold. _Careful_.He reaches over and lightly places his hand on her thigh. Squeezes, it is affectionate and for a moment her mind flips and considers it sweet. Before her rational thought arises up and tells her better.

"I suppose we both paid Charon with the same cheap coin."

"Death was an acceptable risk." Susannah nearly growled. He smirked.

"Preferable in some."

"Desperation often leads us towards what it perceives as the shortest path to its end."

"Is that why you think I want Niklaus to die...Desperation?" She can't tell if he's angry, she can't tell if he's anything. She's just glad he doesn't focus those harsh eyes on her.

He looks at her as if finally seeing the threat she is with that mind of hers. Able to build connections and understand. His eyes drop to her soft, pliant hands, wondering how she would look with claws.

"If not desperation then what is it, Elijah?"

His eyes flash and she knows he would attempt to kill her out of self-preservation if necessary. His nails bite into her thigh, hard enough to bruise.

"I'll leave that to your judgement."

"That's such a politician thing to say."

He hums low in his throat. "Perhaps."

"This means we owe each other. Do you pay your debts Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Always."

"Then consider yourself in mine," Susannah said. "And get your hands off of me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Edited**

* * *

"Do you usually make people drop you off over a block away from your true destination?" Elijah questioned, his voice gliding gently on the wind. He had turned ever so slightly towards her, turning the car off swiftly.

"Does it truly matter?"

The night felt warm and clouded, inky. The darkness similar to being held underwater. It was feral. Purgatorial.

He looks at Susannah whose gaze won't meet his.

Her eyes settle on the patterns of the ceiling, the bland designs seeming to keep her interest more than he ever could. The harsh lights of the outside streetlamps flicker, casting small shadows on her face and making all her features stand out.

As since the first time he saw her, she appeared ethereal.

Before she can reach the car door, Elijah is already opening it and offering his hand to help her exit. She eyed him evenly however narrowly avoiding his eyes by looking at his upper cheek. She took his hand with all the poise of a soverign. Her palm barely grazing his and hardly any weight behind the touch.

The way she threw her weight around was way more controlled than he has initially expected.

She was alluring but never overtly sexual, despite the fact she brims with untapped passionate enegry.

It was a flash of bare ankles, the stretch of her back, the roll of her head. All so inconspicuous yet hard for him to ignore.

He almost hopes Susannah is ready to do her worst.

She lifts her chin, blinking, measured and slow. Then tips her head back showing her neck, a flare of heat cutting through him at the unknowing display of submission- a lovely, deadly thing- and stares at Elijah through the black fringe of her eyelashes.

She certainly looks ready.

"Why did you lie to me, sweet Susannah?"

"What time?" She replies bluntly, adding as an afterthought, "Specifically."

A muscle in the corner of Elijah's mouth twitched. "When you said my brother and you were similar...that isn't really true, is it?"

Her eyes lifted.

They study one another, like two mirrors in the dark, until, slowly reflections emerge.

"You have control issues." Susannah bites out, and there's something enchanting about the sentiment. "If I told you the full truth, it would have been like offering you a license to throw in your _opinion_ , and to attempt to control the outcome to suit your desires."

Elijah leans back against his car, then smirked and peered up at her with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"It's only an issue if it causes me detriment, and I can say with utmost sincerity that my predilection for mastery over myself and my environment has done nothing but serve me well over the years."

"And how do you deal with things out of your control?"

"Accordingly," he replied simply.

She shakes her head with a small smirk, and Elijah is aware sharp words are coming next.

"Mr. Mikaelson," She says in a tone that's dripping with false civility, "has anyone ever told you that you are almost unfeasibly arrogant?"

"Yes," replies Elijah unhelpfully.

"Did they live after?" She asked smiling fully this time.

"You truly are charming," he throws out with no regard for Susannah. "Despite your best efforts to convinve me otherwise."

The space between them is not enormous but the tension makes it feel more vast than it is. Susannah stands tall and proud, a demanding and expecting muse. Elijah sits back against his car, allowing Susannah the position of power with high ground, while Elijah assumes the position of comfort. He has no intention of bowing to her, but compromise is the currency of a successful negotiation.

His only goal is to gain more than he gives.

"You've read me right, pet. I'm curious about you, and what you can do."

The look Elijah gives her is unreadable and yet so intriguing that it keeps Susannah on her toes. The original has the remarkable ability to make her feel inadequate-in every definition of the word- with a single freaking glance.

"Oh," She murmured quietly through gritted teeth."You don't want to just be close to me, you want to _interact_ with me. You think I could be a helpful in taking on Niklaus."

Susannah's mind is a drug, and a terrible satisfaction is its side effect. Elijah is vibrant with it, a half step removed from a natural high.

"You started this game between us, Susannah. I'm simply now making you an additional offer."

Her jaw goes slack, but she is sharp with calculation. Even as she works to find her words.

"I reject your offer."

"Without hearing all the potential rewards?"

"Boundaries are subjects to negotiations, moving them without one's consent can be seen as an act of war," She replied bluntly. "I have to hand it to you. You threw me off. That doesn't happen very often."

Elijah tilts his head. "I'd apologize but I'm not particularly sorry." He breathes in a sigh. "You're afraid of Niklaus."

"Afraid? No."

"Catious then. The path of least detriment."

Susannah feels like applauding his performance at playing human.

"Vampire's like to own witches. Keep them in their back pocket and discard after use. I am not a tool and I will not allow you to make me one."

"Prejudiced?" Elijah rolls the words over his tongue carefully.

"Realist."

"How wary you are," Elijah points out. "So fiercely protective of yourself."

"Someone has to be."

"When no one is there to defend you, you must become your only defense," Elijah confirms with another nod.

"A survival tool. You are similar in that regard."

Elijah inclines his head, a smile tugging on his lips. This back and forth is more than amusing. "Time hardens people."

"It can also break them."

Silence falls between the duo as the weight of those words settle.

And Elijah?

Elijah is delighted.

"Niklaus will not be a factor in our bargain if you so wish it, I still have my _own_ interest in you."

"You want to study me?" Susannah asks. She bristles, vibrates, snaps and snarls. "An all access pass to the freak show?"

Soon the perfect blend of sweetness dampens the air, the savory aroma of blood, her blood. She had bit her lip raw, open.

"I only thought to ask the pleasure of your company."

Red lips curl into a fearsome sneer. If Susannah were not so lovely, he might have found the aggression ugly. "Yes, I'm sure you would like that."

"You would be of course under no obligation. Free to walk away at any time." Elijah glances down at his hands and twists his band again before facing her. "And I would ask nothing more from you than you're willing to give."

Her nostrils flare. "What exactly do you think I am willing to give you? You are awfully presumptive."

"You've already given me some of your time, a taste of your abilities, and the answers to some questions I had. I don't require anything more than that." He strongly ignores the throbbing in his gums. Telling him to bite into her neck and keep biting deeper and deeper until it leaves a permanent mark. His permanent mark. "Let me be transparent with you, Susannah, so we do not dance around the subject. I am here for Niklaus and Niklaus alone. The others are useful to an extent but they don't matter. The doppelganger already views me as the enemy and so will the people around her. If I stray to close to you they will assume me a threat and make maintaining my end of the bargain difficult. However if we change the narrative to something more intimate, it will provide me more access. Rather than a stranger worthy of suspicion I would become a little more trusted. The more I am trusted, the more I can get away with. _And in turn I can provide you with my presence that you so desire_."

Susannah watches him for sometime, lit up by the warm lamp light of the night. She taps her manicured nail against her thigh, not unlike a clock, denoting the passage of time as she weighs his words.

Elijah can practically hear the whirring of thoughts.

Finally, Susannah steps forward.

She dips to collect her bag, wincing when her knuckles scrap against the side, and hauls it over her shoulder, and for a moment Elijah thinks she may walk away. He imagines trying to stop Susannah. But, no- if she chooses to leave, Susannah must let her go. It would be after all, perhaps the most clever mind of all that avoids this game entirely.

But she doesn't leave.

She approaches, slow and measured, until she's arm length away.

"Around and around we go," She said with a wry smile. "Dizzy yet?"

"Not enough to lose my footing." Elijah assures her. "Are you?"

"Disorentation is an old friend."

His eyebrow hitched up at that, not bothering to hide the interest in his eyes.

"I suppose I should be grateful to the _honorable_ original for his generous offer," Susannah sneers and Elijah's eyes darken.

"Indeed you should," Elijah says taking a threatening step forward. "Do not mock me. I will only forgive the **_vulgarity_** of your impoliteness to a certain degree. It would be very unwise to offend me when I am doing this for your benefit."

"Thanks," Susannah says bitingly, trying to mask her fear with a smirk.

It's hard to imagine Elijah angry. Truly angry.

Even when he stands here with these sick curiosities forming in that dark abyss of his steely gaze.

"Let's just continue negotiating then."

"Negotiation? Is that what you think this is?"

"What else could it be?"

"You and me- playing with ideas."

Elijah's faint smile begins to broaden. "How I'd like to know more of your ideas," he says delicately. "Those private hunters and cravings you have. Artfully displayed in that brilliant mind of your."

 _Is he trying to soften her with airy compliments after he just threatened her?_

She wonders if all Mikaelson's possessed the same uncanny ability to stare people into submission and radiate superior knowledge without actually having to go to the trouble of opening their mouths to confirm it.

Susannah leans back, "Artful," she says after a moments pause. "I think you're looking at me the same way people look at art," it was a simple and curt suggestion, almost crude in her delivery, but Susannah was alarmingly correct yet again. "You're inspecting me but also attempting to evaluate me."

Her hand curls into a fist.

"Naturally." He replies unbothered, aloof even. "The purpose of art is to convey the truth of a thing, not be the truth itself, left to the interpretation of it's audience."

"You think you can interpret me?"

"I think I would like to try."

And then, because stained silences don't bother him, he makes absolutely no effort to break the following quiet, and instead meticulously catalogues the way Susannah's eyes dart around, the twitching of each finger, and how the glint of small white teeth are appearing at intervals to nibble at her bloody bottom lip. Then Elijah reflects on how someone can be so effortlessly lovely without even being aware of it.

"You are willing to give me all of this out of the goodness of your heart?" Susannah asks softly, warningly, with a hint of a wry and dangerous smile. "All for the pleasure of my company? Giving me an out to end this arrangement whenever I please? You know what it sound like you're asking for, right?"

Elijah tips his head back, an imitation of Susannah's technique. He bares his throat. Though the beast inside his skin itches at how wrong it feels.

"You've captured my interest. Believe me when I say this will be just as beneficial to me as it is to you."

Her breath catches at that and Elijah fights off a grin. His attraction to Susannah is no secret-but such a heavy handed coercion would be tasteless and not worthy of Susannah's intellect.

His eyes snake up and down her body. Elijah was not just handing out pointless flattery, even though he is not above doing so. Everything about her body screamed sensuality and passion.

And Elijah may be a gentleman but he would never pretend to be blind.

Susannah laughs once. Shaking her head incredulously, which ruffles the curls that fall on her face. "What do you expect me to give you within the context of our relation- sorry, agreement?"

"I will accept anything you are willing to give," As soon as the words leave his mouth, he stiffens. He has been speaking the truth to Susannah- or at least a version of it, a version that omits a rather large and important fact. But what he has just said to her is so very truthful that he was not aware of it until he spoke it out loud.

Susannah nudges her leg forward, presses it against Elijah's- there's a challenge in her eyes. Elijah is not one for losing. He allows one of his legs to fall open, create a truly rude amount of space between them that Susannah has no hesitation filling.

She rests her forearms atop Elijah's shoulders, just above the edge of the makeshift cast on her hand. There is the soft sound of skin as she laces her fingers together behind Elijah's head. She is near, so near, so warm as she looms close, eyes half lidded and weighty with consideration. She looks down to Elijah and he looks up.

There is nothing Elijah would like more than to move as he likes, to seize the urge to act upon intrigue he senses in the empty space between their bodies, however another part of him wants to pull away, to have some space to process over what he just admitted.

Instead he mocks Susannah's actions by curling his palms around her waist, resting comfortably on the soft fabric of the dress. He raises his eyebrows in unconcerned query, even as he drinks his fill of Susannah's burning heat.

He is determined not to break the silence first.

Whatever gambit Susannah is playing, he must wait her out to ascertain her strategy.

She is not at all what she seems- Elijah has already learned that lesson once.

Elijah is perfectly still when Susannah's fingers brush the fine fuzz at the nape of his neck and thread into his hair. He counts it as a personal accomplishment. The monster in his bones snapping and snarling; his instincts regarding Susannah's hands as weapons whose origins and intentions he is uncertain of.

"Soft," Susannah murmurs, and her voice fills every vacant inch between them.

Elijah is tugging on the threads that hold himself together, pulling them tighter. Susannah seems determined to pick him apart at the seams.

She grins; and Elijah wastes no time preparing himself for her fingers running wildly through the strands of his hair, disturbing the shape and raising shivers on Elijah's scalp, zinging with electricity at the brush of well- shaped fingernails.

Elijah reacts.

He catches her hand in a punishing grip, breathes through his nose to steady himself and is quietly infuriated when Susannah doesn't so much as blink at the bruising force.

Instead, her grin grows wider.

"Careful, _Mikaelson_ ," She purrs, "Or you'll break my hand, and then I'll need you to do everything for me."

Elijah does not release her. The self- satisfied look in Susannah's eye is a loss. She has ruffled him. Of course she has, that terrible thing. But Elijah hadn't been touched so casually perhaps ever in his life.

Not since-

"Relax," Susannah says in a sing song voice. "It's all just a _game_. If it bothers you so much I won't do it."

"Just unaccustomed to being touched is all."

His eyes glimmered. It was short and barely recognizable, but it was there. Quickly hidden behind his polite and even mask. He digs his hands into his pockets, perhaps to look less dangerous, but it didn't work.

"I have another condition for this arrangement."

That's more like it. Elijah held back his grin.

"Your terms?"

"I'm not your whore." It was said bluntly, with a twist of distaste.

"Of course not, Susannah." Elijah purred without any hesitation, a little too kindly. "I have no intention of being unreasonable."

"You protect my interest," Susannah murmurs. "And I'll protect yours."

And Elijah absolutely does not smile as Susannah walks away.

* * *

One word came to mind as Bonnie angrily paced down the halls of the Salvatore boarding house: Betrayal.

It wasn't a word she thought of often or even contemplated, but sometimes (more often then she would ever like to admit) she felt a bitterness that turns her insides jagged and her heart tight. But she knows what to do, its so familiar in a way it's traumatic.

Swallowing down the pain, the very thought of losing her family, eating it up in her belly and wearing a passive face, she forces a tentative smile. "Susannah is strong."

The words burn her throat and she immediately wants to swallow them back down. Because she knows as well as anyone, that strength doesn't mean weaknesses aren't present. Bonnie knows how many times her friends have said she was "strong" so in their minds she could handle it. But what if she can't? What if Susannah can't? What if this time she just isn't strong enough and everything just ends?

She feels a hand touch her back to reality. It is warm and small, and she can feel it is Elena. It's supposed to be comforting. To relax her, but all it does is remind her that Elena sees her as some carpet she can walk on.

Bonnie knows logically their is history to their friendship. That Elena and her are family in some ways. But emotions often times never listen to logic. So when Bonnie slaps Elena's hand away and see her cradle it to her chest with a pained expression, she feels no sympathy. Just a blinding rage.

"So let me get this straight," Bonnie said slowly refusing to look at any of them. Rage coming off of her in waves, as they felt fear dry their mouths. "You along with my cousin were… _kidnapped_. And although you were with her, you all made the decision to leave her behind in the middle of nowhere with no way back?"

Elena opened her mouth, starting to get mad. "Bon, you said it yourself Susannah is stron-"

"I'm not finished, Elena." She whirled around and glared at them. "And for some reason, this seemed like a logical thing to do? For some reason, even though I can't think of one damn reason as to why, you left her behind as if she were nothing. Even though," she glared at Elena who opened her mouth to interrupt again. "Even though, I am the only one that agreed to be involved and my family is once again being dragged through the mud because of your decisions?"

Elena sighed, "Bonnie, look, she asked us-"

"Okay." Bonnie nodded derisively. "So I didn't miss anything. Excellent." She calmly walked towards the grand fireplace.

Damon stuffed his hands into his pockets, watching Bonnie struggle to keep her anger beneath the surface. Licking his lips, he vaguely wondered how beautiful it could be if she let it all out.

"Listen, Judgy-"

"No Damon you listen, I told all of you that my cousin was off limits. I said it time and time again that if anything was to happen I would hold you accountable."

The aneurysm came so suddenly that Damon fell to his knees, coughing up a handful of blood. "This is me holding you accountable."

"Bonnie," Elena gasped her eyes going glassy with tears. Moving towards Damon, she bent at her knees beside him. Grasping his arm in a tight hold. Stefan watched his girlfriend and brother with a pained expression, but made no movement forward.

That for some inexplicable reason made her even more angry and the fireplace ignited with flames.

"Bonnie please this will solve nothing," Stefan said stepping forward. His hands held upwards as if approaching a wild cat.

"A solution would be never leaving her in the first place." Just when the faint idea of burning the entire Salvatore boarding house down into nothing passed through her mind, the door opened.

Susannah's bare feet were chilled against the hard floors of the boarding house, but she didn't have the privilege to complain about it. Her lips morphed into a quick grin when she saw the Salvatore on the floor, her dimples exposing her amusement.

She wasn't able to even get a word out when Bonnie tackled her into a swift hug.

Her descendants hugs are stronger than what her small body would ever show. Digging her hands into her shoulders to grasp her closer. "I thought something happened to you," She whispered weakly.

Lifting her chin with her free hand, Susannah forces Bonnie's eyes to hers.

And Bonnie knows she can see it. She can see everything behind her eyes with just one look. A soft smile presses Susannah's face and a fiery warmth lightens her eyes. A look of pure love and family. "Let's head home and we can watch some movies okay?"

The water that stings Bonnie's eyes comes suddenly. She nods quickly, wanting anything but to be here for another moment, her shoulders sagging with sudden exhaustion.

"Not so fast," Damon said standing, his lips curving into a smirk. "I believe witchy owes me an apology."

The giggle rolled about the room like a child's spinning top, vibrant and heart warming as it moved around the people in its chaotic way. It came in fits and bursts - loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again. "Bonnie owes you nothing. In fact I believe everyone in this room owes her an apology."

All eyes remain stuck on her.

It was a ridiculous effect of being in her presence too long. This uncanny ability of hers to draw the attention of all around her and hold it captive, it was almost as if she were this being of epic proportions that one couldn't help but be in awe of. Of course, as far as they all knew, Susannah was only human.

She was so small, so fragile and vulnerable. How could they have thought it was wise to leave her alone? Stefan's heart softened and guilt wormed its way inside of it. However, a cold prickling sensation ran over his skin when he met her gaze. Those large, golden eyes observing him in a clinical fashion. Stefan suddenly felt as though he was being picked apart cell by cell until nothing was left but his darkest secrets, his most horrid fears...his soul.

This all transpired in mere seconds, and just as quickly, something gleamed in her gaze. Whatever it was, he no longer felt uncomfortable.

Those luminous eyes were now disarmingly gentle, and perhaps even bashful.

Damon opened his mouth to growl out something crude, no doubt, when Susannah flicked her hand lazily to signal dismissiveness.

"If you won't apologize we will just take our leave as previously intended."

* * *

"You were hurt." Bonnie says sharply, helping re-wrap Susannah's cast after her much needed shower. Her eyes vibrant with unshed tears.

"Don't worry, I was going to go to the garden later and gather some healing herbs."

"And that makes it better?" Bonnie snapped. She sits back, tall and dignified. The décor of her room is minimalist but soothing, photographs of nature and simple objects. The walls are a tasteful gray- blue that borders on stereotypical. The books on the shelf, though, are first-edition-expensive, classic tomes.

Of course, Susannah always knew Bonnie was a woman of taste.

Even when she tries to hide it.

"You know how I feel about the doppelganger, I couldn't survive that long of a car ride with her."

Bonnie is the picture of poise, perfect posture as she sits at the edge of her desk chair, leaned politely forward and engaged. Her hands are lightly crossed before her, in full view. She is unthreatening but commanding and there is a glint in her green eyes that Susannah finds makes her proud. Like most Bennett's, she is more than she seems.

"Why don't you ever call her by name."

Susannah mimics her posture. She is cautious not to take up too much space, least she be seen as presumptuous. She is confident, of course, but not overconfident. "I'll be frank," she says simply, and Bonnie raises a brow in response; gestures gracefully for her to continue. "The Salvatore's would kill you a thousand times over before letting anything happen to the doppelganger and _Elena_ does nothing to discourage such behavior. In fact, she encourages it."

She considers her words carefully. Bonnie was loyal, very, very loyal. She didn't want a confrontation, especially over this.

"Elena is my friend," Bonnie finally says, stubbornly. Her defiance making Susannah love her a little more. Her green eyes, however, hold too much emotion. Susannah would have to teach her later to hide such things, but now is not the time.

"Yes she is," Susannah tests her injured hand. Wincing when she overexerts it. "But your life holds just as much value as hers, so stop trying to give it up so easily. Especially for someone who wouldn't do the same."

Bonnie does not buckle. Instead she inclines her head. She surveys Susannah without blinking, and does not shy away from eye contact. She is brutally confident in herself. It's refreshing.

"Susannah-"

"I know you don't agree and that's okay, for now, but promise me you will take my words into account?"

Bonnie sighs. "I promise I will."

It doesn't take long for them to fall back into an easy atmosphere and travel downstairs, gravitating to the T.V like magnets.

"We are going to get fat."

Bonnie laughs as she kicks out her feet comfortably. "We say that every weekend, I'm beginning to think it won't actually happen."

Taking a large spoonful of cookies n' cream ice cream before settling on her side of the couch, their favorite Disney movie already in and playing. "That's what they want you to think."

"Conspiracy theory." Bonnie murmured with wide eyes as she curled the blanket beneath her chin. "Did you order the pizza?"

"Please, that was the first thing I did," Susannah said side eyeing her cousin. "I swear you always doubt me."

Glancing down at her palm, remembering the blood that had drenched it, she smirks. Catching Bonnie's emerald eyes and tapping her fingers faintly against her own leg.

"Do you know what it means to be a Bennett?"

It was rigged question.

Frowning at the sudden seriousness of the conversation, Bonnie hesitantly nods. Twisting the necklace Grams had given her around her fingers. She does not yield beneath Susannah's sharp stare and she finds herself feeling proud of that.

"Then you know we are not pawns or even players in this supernatural game." Grabbing her hand and feeling the warmth that comes every time Susannah touches her descendants, even more so with Bonnie, for she was the one who awakened her. The mark of companionship and family.

"Susannah, if this is about Elena I know how you feel-"

Scoffing, she shakes her head. "Not everything is about Elena. This is simply about our blood and what it means."

Breathing out a small sigh deciding now would be as good of a time as ever, Susannah places Bonnie's hand above her beating heart.

"What are you doing?"

"Feel beneath the veil."

Bonnie frowns but still feels compelled to close her eyes. Sucking in a sharp breath she feels something, like grey matter that resembles fog. It mystifies and darkens whatever hides behind it. Using her magic to work her way through it she immediately throws herself back from the sight of it. Falling onto the floor and sucking in breath after breath she looks up at Susannah with fear.

"What the hell was that?" Bonnie's voice is rough and doesn't offer much room for any other conversation then the one she wants. Her eyes nearly burn as though they had witnessed something too bright for them to truly handle, but even so what she saw was beautiful.

"You have it to. You just haven't quite reached it yet." Susannah smiles a familiar smile, and doesn't look too moved to elaborate.

"But how...you don't have magic?"

"Whoever said that?" Susannah whispered out. "I don't practice in front of you and hardly ever use it, but I never said it wasn't there."

Bonnie shakes her head, her mind whirling with millions of different possibilities. "But why?"

"I have a past that means every move I make must be carefully thought out. I ask, as family you don't share this with your friends."

"But we could have used your-"

"Used me? No, Bonnie they couldn't have. I wouldn't have allowed it."

Bitterly the words were dragged out.

Susannah would have refused and cited a litany of reasons why: maintaining professionalism, upholding family above all else, preserving a healthy arm's length away from Elena Gilbert. Susannah had clear and distinct boundaries when it came to the genetic fluke. Over the course of their encounters, she had produced some unspoken rules regarding her. First, she avoided being alone with the doppelganger. Susannah could have conversations with her, one on one discussions, but she always had them in populated places where she could allow her gaze to wander. Second, she avoided knowing more about her than she had to. That was the nature of their relationship.

It was both profoundly rich yet horribly impersonal.

Bonnie physically shakes as her brown skin turns pale. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Grams asked me not to and I was going to hold onto that, but I feel I need to tell you something. Bonnie our family has been enslaved physically, used, beaten, and tortured but we still stood. Our line has endured so much and although I admire your loyalty- I ask that you recognize you are apart of something important and are needed. I won't tell you what you can and can't do. I will never take away your choice, but I felt as though I should tell you with every risk you take with your life you impact something much larger. So just- know your limits."


	5. Chapter 5

**_Edited_**

* * *

The house of spirits she stands in is surprisingly quiet.

The real noise- noise as opposed to sounds- is coming from deeper within the house.

Past the main corridor.

There's a choir of animated voices, each trying desperately to be louder than the other. But the room she sits in is simply a cocoon of silence. A few other untrusting spirits join her, watching her.

Their energies are meek and the way they stay in the cower in the shadows show more than their words ever could.

Susannah supposes the spirits are waiting for her to speak first but she doesn't particularly have anything to say so she just stretches her legs out beneath the table and stares fixedly at the pages of her grimoire.

When the words soon begin to mesh together and become too much she looks at her hands. They look rather pale and vulnerable, almost as if they don't belong to her, and there's a circle of purple bruises blooming on her left wrist that she doesn't remember getting. Overall they seem so frail though; surely hands that can cast great magic should look more capable.

"She should not be allowed to enter. _Her kind_ doesn't have the right." The voice is insistent and she can clearly recognize it as Marie Charpentier, a more distant and less direct descendant. "How many times will we allow exceptions-"

A bitter smile presses the empath's lips.

She can feel just how unwelcome she truly is.

The meek spirit in the corner clears her throat and her energy twists around awkwardly. Kara Williams. Permanently stuck at the age of fourteen. When she accidentally catches her brown eyes and meets her warm gaze, Susannah wishes she hadn't.

And just like that, it all came flooding to her in waves. The smallest, trivial things about this young girl clawing their way to the forefront of her mind.

The middle child of five.

All daughters, all exemplary, except her.

Heartbroken by fickle, wayward people too many times.

Constantly drawn in by the dangerous and elusive. Always wanted what she shouldn't and bored by what she should.

As her magic reaches forward, she can feel the borders of Kara, the fractured images. As always she has the urge to pull out the most painful memory, but as always she restrains herself.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Kara says, and the silence that follows feels almost scandalized.

 _Why come to a place where you are so unwelcome?_

Susannah can hear the unasked question so clearly as though it had been shouted.

The only answer she could find was that the pure emptiness Shelia Bennett's house offered was too consuming. Introspection had always left her fighting and that shouldn't have been a problem, if only her mind wasn't such poison to itself.

Susannah shifts slightly, using her hand to wipe away the nervous sweat forming at her hairline. "No thank you, I'm fine."

"You know you'd be better off if you just explained what is inside of you. You know that right?" Kara's voice is pitched deliberately low, soft and inviting, and Susannah doesn't need to look at her to know that her expression will be arranged into carefully cultivated concern (eyes soft supplicating, mouth quirked into a hopeful smile).

"We can't help you if you don't tell us the truth."

Susannah tries not to sigh too audibly.

It's the classic routine, text-book in fact :a display of concern and consideration that gently invites the suspect to unburden themselves until confessions start fluttering out of their mouths like confetti.

Despite the gravity behind the situation Susannah can't help but feel faintly insulted that they think she would fall for something so obvious.

"Why not just tell us what your mother," The girl pauses her eyes going wide as if she realized her words, "Your predecessor- Qetsiyah did to you?"

At Susannah's silence she edges forward carefully. "Start at the beginning. How'd that be?"

 _Why not let me remove that fake- concern off your face?_ Susannah thinks irritably. _How'd that be?_ "No, thank you." Is all she says instead and can't help but be proud at how aloof her voice is.

"The details surrounding your birth were formed on extenuating circumstances," Insist the young spirit as if Susannah hadn't spoken. "You weren't capable of anything but accepting the fate your mother gave you. We would understand. We are collectively...friends of your line, most are family. We won't blame you for it."

Susannah quirks an eyebrow and the young girl clears her throat again.

"Well, yes, obviously there will be consequences for going against nature but they wouldn't be excruciating."

"It's probably a bit late for that," Susannah mused quietly in the same level tone as before. "I think that particular ship has sailed."

Yeah, sailed and sunk into the fucking harbor.

Susannah isn't sure how she should feel about this. About the way they discussed her, as if she were not a witch in her own right.

Interesting. Fascinating.

Yet vaguely insulting. Almost rude.

"But-"

"Do you like being stuck here, Kara?"

The young witch stops. Pauses.

Susannah knew it was wrong of her, knew that this young girl didn't stand a chance.

"I protect nature."

Her voice is stern and firm, almost real. But alas she is a spirt and the only placehold she has is through living witches.

"And does that feel good?"

"Yes of course."

"Of course," She repeats lightly. "Is that the main goal of the spirits then? To protect nature?"

"What other goal would there be? We just want to help." The girl stares at her with large brown eyes, warm and gentle. "We want to help _you_."

When Susannah stands, she is happy to find the young spirit doesn't back away. "Do you all underestimate nature's ability to correct itself? Do you all belive you are above nature and therefore the rightful gatekeepers of it?"

The girl steps back. Feeling rather confronted. Finally, finally understanding on some level _what_ exactly she is playing with.

"What, no that's-"

"No? So spirits don't intervene with the lives of living witches? Isn't _the dead must not walk_ amongst the living a ideal of nature itself?"

"Nature allows us-"

"So because nature allows you to have the power you do you can act on whim? Limit living witches based on rules that are built on prejudices against werewolves and vampires? As if-"

"Kara," The voice of her descendant Emily Bennett says sharply. Saving the girl. "Leave us."

It doesn't take long for her to obey.

She has a faraway look in her eye, a glimmer of sadness. Susannah wonders how long it will take for her to question to others.

How long will the doubt circle in her head.

And with that Susannah glances at Emily, just enough to show she was listening, not so much to show she cared. As she settled back even further on the couch. Her legs were carefully crossed and her shoulders back, very poised and confident.

"All of you are mistaking complexity for significance."

"Are we?" Emily hummed. She settled beside her. Bowing her head in submissiveness and respect.

"I believe so. In regards to my birth and to what I am."

Emily stares at her openly. She is one of her many descendants that respect her with more than passing pleasantries, more than nice words.

"I'm not sure I understand. Would you care to explain it."

Susannah taps her foot. Thinking of her mother. Thinking of herself. Thinking of the bad things both her parents planted inside of her.

"It is very easy to manipulate the truth, especially over the course of thousands and thousands of years. There are legends and there is me, and both say that I was born into nature as something different. Regardless of this that is still only partially the complete story, you are all trying to work apart the details and assume because it is complex and cruel that I am too."

Emily nods, "Then perhaps you would provide even the slightest of clarity? It is not that you are unwanted..."

Emily goes silent for a moment. Susannah wonders if she can tell the truth. If gentle, calm, kind Emily could understand. Staring out the window of the bleak home Susannah suddenly wants to go back to studying grimoire and reading the spells she already knew and some even created.

"My mother refused to hold me after I was born-"

Susannah immediately stops when she feels a presence outside. A presence that is most certainly not welcome. Even more unwelcome than she is.

"Elijah Mikaelson," Emily says with an odd glimmer in her eyes. "He has come for you."

"Has he?" Susannah said with a long suffering sigh.

Emily gives a wry smile and stares at the front door. "Mr. Mikaelson is certainly very easy on the eyes," She murmurs in a thoughtful voice.

"And absolute hell on the ears," Susannah replies firmly. "Besides aren't you supposed to be against abominations."

"I'm not against you."

Emily immediately wants to grind herself into the ground for such foolish words.

But the daughter of Qetsiyah, simply laughs.

And with that Emily feels her fear melt away.

Emily shakes her head and stands, but not before saying, "I heard his voice is lovely."

"Wow, do you have a crush on him?" Susannah asks teasingly. "Been waiting to leap to his assistance? Hovering in hopes that he recognizes you? Oh Mr. Mikaelson," Susannah continues in an exaggerated falsetto tone, "Your angelic face undoes me-"

"All right that's enough," Emily says in a pompous voice. And with that Emily is gone.

* * *

Standing and opening the door, Elijah stood calmly before her with his hands in his pockets and slight frown in his pinched brow. He was stunning. Obviously from thoroughbred European descent, his frame was built tall and strong, the slick suit he wore defining each limb perfectly while speaking loudly of his rank. All that power he has still simmering just under the surface.

Nothing else. Not even a hint of how volatile he is. How cold and cruel and unforgiving.

 _Her mind goes to Trevor. To his head left on the floor._

"Yes, Mr. Mikaelson?"

"It's a lovely day, don't you agree," he says quietly, politeness almost twisted into mockery.

"Quite so," She purred in response.

He fights the urge to smile when he finds that she has no shoes. How adorable.

"Not fond of eye contact" a smirk stretched on his lips, "Are you?"

"Eyes are distracting," She pulls her arms tighter around herself. "Makes it hard to focus when all you can think are the thoughts of those around you."

Her voice is a tangled mass of emotions and she knows that Elijah can pick apart every one, like they are sitting under a microscope.

 _See me, Susannah._ His blood thrums at the thought. _I dare you._

Meticulously he is now cataloguing the various aspects of her which are especially deserving of appreciation and devotion.

Her face and figure: the way she moves and holds herself, the curve of her full lips, the slim neck (distressingly easy to snap), and her hair, long and stunning in its own right with healthy ringlets that catch the light.

Susannah's eyes, in particular, are extremely striking and its a shame they are stuck so firmly and selfishly secured in her skull and therefore cant be removed and cherished- although the real appeal is less in the shape or shade, or even the excessively charming way her hair tumbles into them and tangles in her eyelashes, but rather there expression.

Susannah's eyes are...what? Elijah inwardly frowns. English is such an ugly language; none of the dash or delicate nuance of the Roman tongues. Susannah's eyes would be _triste_ in French or _luttuoso_ in Italian, whereas English would deem them something cumbersome and inelegant like 'dismal' or 'gloomy'- and yet there is a dark beauty in her sadness, in her wildness.

Even now, with her eyes narrowed. Angry and annoyed by his detailed inspection of her, they are pure fire.

"What?" She asked him, crossing her arms over her chest. Her chin is angled upwards and her eyebrow arched. "You're staring at me."

"Yes, I suppose I am," Elijah replies leisurely, without making the slightest effort to advert his eyes.

"Well its _rude_."

"You're quite right, such behavior is beneath me." It's amazing how much condescension Elijah puts into his voice, as he lazily dragged out the words.

"I'm sure you find many things to be beneath you, Mr. Mikaelson."

His grin widens as if he is charmed, his eyes darkening.

It was an odd thing really, being as he was in the supernatural world few dared to speak to him in such a manner. In most he would find such behavior disgraceful, but in her...

"Would an apology pacify you? An apology for using my eyes as they were meant to be used."

"Don't patronize me."

"Aren't I justified to look at the world around me?"

"I'm not the world."

"No, but you are of it," Elijah drawls, and it's obvious that Susannah is growing nervous and is lashing out in attempt to control her reactions, and Elijah can't help but find it incredibly adorable despite being behavior he'd find repellent in anyone else. Quite the opposite in fact, because these little flares of aggression are so pure and authentic that it's impossible not to find them alluring and wish to kindle them into greater heights. "I am not entirely devoid of feeling. When I see you as you are now, I find it to be alluring."

" _Devoid of feeling_ ," repeats Susannah in the same fretful tone as before. "You say that but you don't actually show real emotions, not like normal people do. You don't get sad, you don't get angry- you just stand there and absorb what everyone around you is doing."

"Oh dear," Elijah said affectless, his face unnervingly blank. "You find me to be unfeeling?"

"Mr. Mikaelson, is there a point to this visit?"

She could feel his eyes roll down her body, finding the fine detail of Susannah fascinating, his intensity jarring and gave her the sensation of a prey animal cornered by a rouge, feral predator. "Do I have to make a point?"

"Why come here otherwise?" Susannah could feel the house practically thrum with energy beneath her feet.

"Curiosity." Elijah didn't sound smug when he said it, just...dangerous. It was something between a threat and imposition; tightrope walking there. No doubt he was completely aware of this, his capabilities, and his control. Elijah seems rather intrigued which is exactly what Susannah would expect. She is well aware that this man has something akin to a superiority complex, armored and bolstered by the fact that he is good at knowing more than those around him. He likes being the smartest one, the one who holds all the cards.

A predator in close proximity- _careful how much throat you bare._

"Well if that is all I'm afraid I'm no longer willing to accommodate you-"

"Not nearly."

"Then to what do I owe this pleasure?"

She considers how no one is around to hear her scream. How secluded she had left herself. How long it would take to reach for the pen in her pocket, how hard it would be to overpower a man like Elijah. The risk is entirely too great, but if she needed to she could grab the pen and jam it into his carotid artery.

His eyes are lightened with amusement and Susannah knows in some vague way he has an idea of what she is thinking.

"I would like you to accompany me on an adventure," His voice is airy and much too aloof to be sincere.

Susannah says nothing and offers a meaningless smile. Elijah returns it and they stand showing each other their teeth and pretend they are both not predators in their own right.

"Do I have a choice?" She asks dejectedly.

"I suppose it is an act of courtesy to let you think so." Elijah replies.

"Fine, whatever." Susannah shurgs. "Why me, why not the doppleganger?"

"Because I find _you_ fascinating," He pauses laying a hand on the wood of the door frame.

"Sad to say I don't feel the same. You aren't nearly that interesting."

Crude. Then polite. Married together in such a way no one else could get away with in his presence. He relished it.

"You will change your mind after today."

It is a statement said so certainly that it felt like a fact.

"You don't know me," Susannah feels the need to remind him.

"I believe I am beginning to get the measure of you."

She genuinely laughed at that, at the very thought this pretentious fucking man believed he knew her.

"Oh? You disagree? Yes, of course you do; we all cherish the notion of our own unfathomable, fascinating complexity and how insipid and transparent everyone else is in comparison."

Her eyes flash. " _What an intelligent insight._ One could easily say the same for you."

"And how exactly is that so?"

"Because I see exactly what you want me to see, Mr. Mikaelson. Your appearance, your movements, your manners- they didn't just build themselves around you. You cultivated them over years, and now you get to reap the rewards of everyone seeing you as _honorable_. It's all a disguise and everyone else is just too stupid to see it."

Elijah smiles to himself and reaches his hand forward as if he intends to touch her. Susannah immediately takes one step deeper into the witch house. Avoiding his reach. "So you say," he murmurs dropping his hand, the vampire in him growling and baring its teeth.

"I do say."

He is silent. Drawing it out until she is nearly begging with her eyes for him to say something. Of course she knew he intended to as such and therefore refused to do such a demeaning thing.

"Why did your mother refuse to hold you?" The question is asked musingly, as he watches aptly for her reaction.

Humans, after all, are very easy to read. Things like heart rates or pheromones and other chemicals their bodies give off without any control aided. Any being with superior senses have an excellent idea of a specific human's current mental and physical condition. Nearly everything any predator needs to know to choose their prey.

He could pick out the strong from the weak in a crowd effortlessly. The nervous from the confident. The sick from the healthy.

Her anger comes forth like a wildfire. Her cheeks flushing a beautiful rosy color as her magic roars forth, deepening the quality of the air into something more tangible. She looks wild and free and all the more beautiful.

Her next words are conversely sweet, soft, and even more polite. "You didn't come here to eavesdrop or talk to me about my childhood."

"No," Elijah confirms. "Although it is a point of interest."

"No it isn't."

"I believe it is."

"Well it's _fucking_ not."

"And yet this mind of yours didn't just spring to adulthood fully formed. Did it sweet Susannah?" Susannah shifts irritably obviously resenting the contradiction, but he seems unbothered, or unfeeling, to Elijah Mikaelson the two words might just be interchangeable.

She looked at the faint blue vein webbing out at his throat, marveling at his body, dead yet so alive.

"Are you always this _irritating_ , Mr. Mikaelson, or do you make a special effort just for me?" Her voice is heavy in sarcasm and terribly blunt as it rolls over Elijah forcefully.

He gives her a grin that could cut glass replying in kind, "Are you always so quick to dismiss others?" He steps forward, just a breath away from invading the witch house with his presence. "I'm _simply_ trying to figure out where I stand, surely you cannot blame me for that."

"You're standing on private property against my better judgement. And I still am no closer to figuring out why you are bothering me?"

With how rude she was being, Elijah mused it was lucky she was so stunning.

"As I said I need you to accompany me."

"Are you truly so self centered to assume I would do as you please just because you want me to? Lets hope not. It's unbecoming." She tucks her lower lip up against her teeth, challenging the original. Seeking, maybe some crack in Elijah's control, some proof that he can be offended, and that Susannah is justified for showing her teeth so much.

But Elijah just laughs, sharp and not amused, but Susannah still has her head so she considers it a win.

"No, I knew you would need some convincing."

He's looking at her from across the threshold. Just looking, nothing sexual or suggestive in his gaze, but even so Susannah feels pinned under his eyes. So intense, twin pools of the richest brown Susannah's ever seen. Like the darkness floating in the bottom of the ocean, and the man they belong to is twice as dangerous, but he's smiling, right now. _Smiling,_ barely perceptible, with his head tilted to the right, his jaw working slowly.

Her heart begins to thud and her body feels uncomfortably warm. Her hands twitch with the realization she wants nothing more than to touch him. The untouchable original.

It's best to stay wary around his kind...or maybe just him and _his influence._

"I'm not easily swayed."

"No?" His eyes catch the light, "How favorable for me then."

He's digging into his coat pocket then and pulling out a paper with a rudimentary drawing of a seal. Her father's seal to be exact. Her stomach immediately drops the longer she stares at it.

"I found it in my travels. A book written in a language so ancient-" He pauses, gauging her reaction. "I tried using the help of magic to decode it, but according to some associates the journal is resistant to magic. I believe it has some importance to you, yes?"

"Where did you find it?"

"You didn't answer my question."

She nearly snarls at him like a rabid animal. "Where did you find it?"

He grins, finding amusement in her anger. "I can't seem to recall. Perhaps on the ride to our destination the answer will strike me."

Stepping out onto the porch she glares at him, the sweet smell of pomegranate and honeysuckle drifting off her skin. This manipulative bastard. "Let's get this over with."

Elijah raises his hand and gestures to her feet with a charming smile, the dimple in his chin showing. "Forgetting something?"

He hears her curses as she storms back into the witch house, slamming the door quite harshly in his face.

How utterly distasteful.

* * *

The distance from the house to Elijah's car is small but every step feels like they are coming from a far away place. Elijah, ever the gentleman, opens the door for her but catches Susannah's hand before she can get inside. His palm is rather cold and unexpected and not exactly soft. Thinly she wonders why that is, Elijah doesn't seem like the type to often do strenuous labor but when he was human perhaps everything was different.

He holds onto her carefully, like he's holding something valuable or complicated.

"You can still run," Elijah says.

The creases of his eyes vanish as he gazes at her long and hard, gauging the danger of his words, or perhaps paging through an internal pile of evidence as if it were made for him. Susannah gets the feeling his words have more meaning behind them than what she is ready to comprehend. And something in her, innate and utilitarian, jumped to the conclusion she'd rightly made previously, and sent out a loud message to not run under any circumstances.

Predators often can't resist a hunt.

"I am struck with an odd sense of inevitability. Even if I choose to run now I'll probably end up back in the same place."

If Elijah is pleased, his face hardly told it, instead he smiled slow and vicious, precisely in the way he'd learned that made his enemies stutter. A smile that he instinctively knew would unsheathe those lovely claws of hers.

"True enough."

When she seats herself in the passenger seat, her back tight and straight she doesn't hesitate to go attacking for answers. "Where did you find it?"

Elijah's tongue traces out the answer within the narrows of his mouth, as his eyes drop in sudden contemplation. "I found the journal near where its said you used to live. How long did it remain there?"

A half answer.

"Time has lost it's constraints on me, or I on it."

"I haven't moved it until yesterday. Does that please you?"

"Less than what you think it might."

Elijah fights off a fond smile. It seems Susannah is an expert conversationalist, perhaps too sharp for the general public and too vicious to be considered dainty, but the ancient vampire found that her razor like words suited him just fine.

"You were watching me," Susannah finally said quietly after a long drawn out silence. Her voice is faint but her eyes are clear and present.

Elijah can feel her gaze on the side of his face, watching his every move with such attentiveness, as if waiting for him to strike out.

"Yes."

"You saw me."

"I saw enough."

"Enough will never be acceptable to you, Mr. Mikaelson," and it's in the way she drawls her words and brushes her hair away from her face. Her eyes so wide and holding an intelligence that was trained to find any weak spots and dig in.

"I know you wanted to believe me regarding the terms of our bargain. I know you don't. I wanted to address your doubts."

"So you watched me, waiting?" Doubt hardens her tone, makes it cold. Elijah's gaze flickers over to her, it lasted only a moment, but she caught it- a flash of acute suspicion, followed by the tell-tale curve of a half-smile. Something about that smile struck her particularly, for it was simultaneously vexed and pleased, and perhaps just a touch impressed.

It was the most genuine expression he'd shown yet throughout their interaction, and she felt a little gratified despite herself for having won it.

"I am a curious creature," Elijah eases back without so much of a breath, he is calm and unprovoked.

"How convenient then."

Susannah wondered if this conversation felt as much like a game as it did for her, a game of wits in which whoever was sharper would find themselves victorious. Once or twice she caught him glancing over at her oddly- his gaze thoughtful, shrewdly keen- and after a particularly deft maneuver of words on her part, he even seemed distracted.

"Ms. Gilbert didn't include you on her list of loved ones to be protected." Elijah shot her a sidelong, considerate glance, while wetting his lips. Driving as he did everything else, with perfect concentration and an odd will of grace.

Susannah scoffed, "As expected."

That seemed to draw a rather pleased response, eager to make conversation. "Why is that?"

"We aren't friends."

Out of the corner of her eye, Susannah saw him quell a smile, amused. She didn't get what was so funny. Turning her body, she angled herself towards the window.

"Do you find her disagreeable?"

Susannah shrugged unhelpfully.

"Are you afraid?" He tried, she could hear the bite in his tone.

"Nope." Her tone outstandingly mild, expression shadowy and skull-like.

They stop at an apartment complex, due to the sheer distance from town, it looked unused. A perfect murder site. Her eyes go over the building, calculating little details.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable." _A lie._

Her eyes flicker, the light drawing out the gold in her eyes as she angled her head. The feeling is strange; it stretches throughout his whole body- it has no bound, nor length, nor depth- just absolute. His body, traitor that it is, wants to tug him towards her.

Elijah unbuckled his seat belt, calmly settling in his chair. "I'm showing you where to find me."

"Why?"

"You weren't included on Ms. Gilbert's list, but you are on mine. It seemed inadequate- not to make this a level playing field." Elijah kept his voice sincere, he knew if she sensed any dishonesty she would either coil into herself or lash out violently. "You and I formed a deal long before Ms. Gilbert, therefore, you will remain my foremost concern."

"And everyone else be damned?" Susannah snorts.

The presences of callous humor makes Elijah oddly feel warm.

"Something of the sort."

"Okay." Susannah said, tapping her fingers nervously on her thigh. She looks at Elijah's chin. "What about the witches?"

Elijah raises an eyebrow in silent question.

"There are two of them in room 213, here by your request I presume?"

"Yes," Elijah says staring at her oddly. "I didn't know you had such _keen senses._ They are not here to harm you, they are simply acquaintances of mine." He no doubt is making a mark of her keen senses in his head, keeping track of her capabilities for further use.

Opening the car door for her, before her eyes can even process him moving, Elijah leans down his body crowding over hers in a way that reminds Susannah of how small she is compared to him. His body doesn't emit any heat and he smells of cologne, or maybe a modest aftershave. She can feel the breath Elijah doesn't need stir her hair as he reaches and undoes her seat belt.

"Shall we?" He askes offering his arm when she is standing.

Her head flies up- their eyes meeting again, and there's that feeling again, low and hot and consuming. A gust of wind whips a stray strand of hair across her cheekbone.

"Sure," She mutters but purposely doesn't take his arm. Walking in front of him and following the auras of the witches that feel so vibrant.

Shortly after they reach the second floor she is shoved backwards straight into Elijah by a man she has to bite her tongue to keep from snapping, and Elijah watched, his face devoid of anything as usual, but his hands coming to her sides to stabilize her. He didn't fumble or hesitate, his touch so very sure.

"Sorry," came the muted apology, but Susannah's hand was clasped firm around the stranger's wrist before he could step very far. The grip must have been very tight because a pained grunt slips from the stranger's lips.

There's something slimy about him that makes her skin itch. He wears a cheap and tightly tailored black suit jacket, and pants that are a different shade of black. He looks as though he tried to put himself together in a presentable manner and fell tragically short. Faking sophistication and instead coming off as repugnant and lazy.

His eyes fill with arrogance as they sweep over her, "Should pay more attention where you walk."

"I believe you have something of mine."

The man looked her over again. "No. I don't know what you're talking about."

Susannah waited and Elijah watched.

After a few tense seconds, the man produced a small wallet from one of his coat pockets and placed it in Susannah's outstretched hand.

"Thank you," she muttered lowly.

He keeps walking whistling a little tune, but even after he exits the second level of the building Susannah remains still in Elijah's arms. She can hear his words directed towards her ear clear as day. "Humans really do lack any sense of self preservation." His grip tightens, his hands moving to cover the expanse of her stomach. She remembers those same hands removing Trevor's head and suddenly feels a bite of cold.

"No," Susannah said, before she had time to think about it.

Oddly enough seeing Elijah in the presence of a human was helping solidify the fact that all of this was real. The entirety of the nights events was not some hallucination her bored mind had concocted.

Elijah was still staring off into the direction the thief had run off in. "No what, Susannah?"

There was danger in that innocuous tone. The small victories she'd managed were not yet sufficient to ensure this one. Susannah told herself to pick her battles, but she had already started, she couldn't back down now. "You know what."

"I am not an aimless killer, pet."

She could have laughed. Because Susannah knew. Knew he had little shame, little regard for morality; seeing him dredged in normalcy, dressed in a business suit- supposedly a gentlemen-was downright laughable.

 _Elijah is a cataclysm for stupid contradictions._

"Mr. Mikaelson?"

He hums in response, still right behind her, his touch lingering on his skin though his hands no longer held her.

"Did killing Trevor weigh heavily on you?"

She can feel him still and his muscles tense as he is silent. Mulling over what is the truth and what is not.

When she dares to look at Elijah, she sees a strange blankness Elijah had shown when he first met. It's not shock really, Susannah muses. It's more like Elijah doesn't know what expression to settle on, and so chooses none at all. Susannah's heard about it with psychopaths- when they can't read what emotion is expected in a certain time, they shut down and show no emotion at all. It's a defense mechanism in a way. It's safer than showing the wrong emotion and making people nervous. Nervous people notice more, more than you want them to.

She thinks of the way he talked about that man. Disconcerted. Indifferent.

"No." He answered truthfully, the faintness of his voice startling her. "In truth I had forgotten about you witnessing me removing his head."

A reflection of the events of Trevor's death, shimmering brightly on the surface of her deeper thoughts and feelings, some part of her envied how Elijah seemed to do everything with effortless strength and agility, remaining sterile and inhumanely efficient. He was so present. Always sharp and fully aware of himself- he didn't need a moment to calm down, or take it all in.

Who Elijah was never changed.

Not even when seeped in violence and covered in blood. He was consistent in his demeanor and countenance. Susannah always had to shift. Converge and realign afterwards, scrape up whatever of herself remained.

She blinks when she hears Elijah call her name.

"And you say you aren't an aimless killer."

She goes to knock on the door, when Elijah reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. If he is insulted it probably rolled off of him like nothing.

"Because It wasn't aimless. I was always going to kill Trevor, no matter what he said or who he had in his grasp to placate me. Does it bother you, the way I handled the proceedings of obtaining the doppelganger?"

Susannah could say a lot. She could say the lingering feeling Trevor carried to death clung to her skin like a sticky substance that could only be washed away with time and persistent care, she could say that it had cost her a night of rest to nightmares of her head being the one rolling on the abandoned floors.

"Next time you intend to kill someone," Susannah started, waiting until Elijah leaned forward, close enough to taste her words. "Don't drag my name into it."

Elijah opens the door before him, releasing the tight hold he kept on the bloodthirsty creature inside of him, letting it peer through his eyes at the beautiful girl before him. _A chasm fell open._

* * *

Two men stand in the room. They are quiet and tense and wary.

When she steps in there is nothing but silence. Until both men fall to their knees before her. It makes a rush of power flood through her, for it has been so long since she has been acknowledged as queen.

"You grace," The older man hummed out, an awe in his voice that spoke of devotion.

"You may stand." Is all she lets her voice say.

The older one keeps his eyes trained on her and speaks lightly. "I am Jonas and this is my son Luka. When we heard the rumors that you were awakened we nearly couldn't believe it."

When Susannah looks up at the introductions, she inclines her head sharply, once, and barely meets the warlocks eyes. Letting a small uncomfortable smile dip onto her face.

"Well here I am."

"Some want you dead." Luka blurts out. "The covens I mean. It seems no one has the same opinion on what should happen to you. Whether you should be welcomed or turned away."

He begins to stalk from one side of the room to the other, shoulders hunched, movements sharp, jerky, furtive. Luka doesn't look at anyone, Susannah can immediately tell he's in a place of his own making.

"And your opinion is?" She asked rather sharply. Careful not to look at Elijah even though she could feel his gaze on her skin.

Jonas turns away returning to a table with dozens of herbs and candles. He opens his grimoire, glancing at the page before looking back up at Susannah. "Our consensus is that you are powerful and powerful individuals are typically dangerous."

Susannah hums at that, not denying or agreeing.

"And yet you work with Mr. Mikaelson."

Elijah chuckles, and it reminds Susannah of something her mother had said long ago, that laughter doesn't express anything. For it is just a sound. Elijah, oddly enough, proves that to be very much true.

"I'm glad you find me powerful, Susannah."

"If we tried to kill each other, Mr. Mikaelson, who do you think would win?"

He doesn't looked surprised by her sudden question. Not the way Jonas and Luka do, instead he looks rather intrigued and she is sure he had already thought about this very question.

Elijah just chuckles lowly.

No answer.

Of course, no answer is still very much an answer.

"Jonas and Luka Martin- I have a proposition," Susannah steps forward a small smirk on her face.

If the game had to be played, she might as well win.


	6. Chapter 6

"Why don't we make our lives a whole lot easier and be _honest_ with one another?"

There was something off about the expensive interior of the apartment room, the dull glow of lights giving way to strange weight in the air. If Susannah didn't know any better she would say she was imagining it.

But no, this was all too real, as real as the Original beside her.

It was difficult, almost impossible to concentrate with Elijah staring at her so intensely, like he wanted to pry apart Susannah's head and see what she was thinking.

His eyes took in her plain white cotton blouse, that dipped into a flattering curved line, and simple jeans, which made her look clean and wholesome. Yet there was something disheveled about her. Her hair was insecurely pinned upon her head, with dark curls escaping here and there, giving the impression that the whole lot would shake loose at any moment and cascade about her slender shoulders.

Elijah is almost hoping it would do so.

Her eyes are darting about warily, examining her surroundings. Even though she is sitting still her restlessness struck him. It was as if she could barely contain herself, so keen to be away, to be somewhere else, somewhere freer and more open.

Elijah sat closely beside her, his thigh pressing against hers purposefully, no regard at all for personal space.

"Honesty can get people in difficult situations."

Jonas rested across from them both, reclined backwards as he kept his gaze focused, his own drink hardly touched.

His eyebrows lift. His smile remains, perfectly placid, genteel even. "I have no interest in getting you in a situation you can't handle."

"And if you wanted to give me that in writing, I might believe it," Susannah counters." Look, Dr. Jonas, if you know who I come from, then you know I understand how this works. Mr. Mikaelson brought me here without telling me about you to catch me off guard. You have suspicions about me, but no solid information. You offered me a drink in hopes that it would relax me and I would let something slip. That, or you would see something in me to justify any unease. I've given you neither. It's not that you have no interest in getting me in trouble. If you had a way to use it to your advantage, I am sure you would. But you don't."

There's frustration in Jonas's eyes, but his smile widens. "I know this matters to you."

"To an extent," Susannah corrected but, Jonas didn't stop.

"And I know," Jonas said looking straight into her eyes, which was a dangerous thing in itself, "that you have enemies. People talk, they may not mean to but every now and then it slips out."

"Drink your whiskey, Jonas."

"Not as fast as you're drinking yours," Jonas observed.

For a moment there is quiet between them. It wasn't the unusual kind, even with Luka and Elijah's eyes watching, it was the type of silence in which they both mull over their thoughts and find their battle weapons before they strike again.

"Are you always this hostile?"

Elijah for an unknown reason bristles at that. Glancing over at Susannah he is pleased to see her raising her chin.

"Only when I'm feeling defensive."

"Ah, so when you get defensive, you bite."

"An unfortunate side of my social graces."

"Most aren't the kind to take offenses lightly." His gaze pointedly shot to the original beside her.

"Do you take offenses lightly?"

"Lighter than most."

Susannah felt Jonas's unease dig its claws into her back.

"I can offer you protection."

"That is what we have Elijah for," Jonas's voice wasn't proud or even cruel-natured, but it's certainly self assured.

And Elijah nods at that point, lips turning up in a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. At least, Susannah assumes it doesn't, although she didn't bother to check.

"And how well does he hold up against magic?"

She sees out of the corner of her eyes Elijah's lips turn down into a frown that Susannah wages is more heartfelt than his earlier smile.

Jonas laughs, his eyes softening just a bit.

"What do you really need from us, your grace? You have nearly untouchable power and as far as I know your enemies are hardly aggressive in their methods."

"Ah, but they are still my enemies and regardless of their current level of aggressiveness, they would take any chance to remove me." Susannah worked the words around her mouth, thinking. While the drama blooming in Mystic Falls certainly was becoming a little too inclusive for Susannah's taste, she wouldn't let it distract her. She can't focus on such things when foreign threats lurked around at the edges. "I need eyes."

"Eyes?"

"To see things I'm not privy to," Susannah actually manages to make eye contact for a moment before her gaze skitters away.

Jonas frowns, considering. "Who exactly are you up against?"

Susannah bites her tongue, suddenly wanting to fall back into silence. She nearly winces at the way Elijah leans forward.

"A coven, their leader believes me to be an abomination that requires extermination. He's been rallying witches who agree with his... ideals and turning those who don't against me."

"Isn't he just one man?"

"Yes, he is just a man." Susannah knotted her fingers together, "But he is rather ruthless and would do anything if he thought it would take him a step closer to wrapping his hands around my throat. He also has powerful allies. If I kill him without probable cause then another will simply take his place. Furthermore many in this life fear me, fear begets animosity. And with the mindset of some witches, I cannot afford to simply call forth a world war because of my life."

"But if one were to break out you are gathering your allies as well?"

"Exactly."

Jonas breathed in a deep sigh.

"I have a family that I cannot afford to lose."

"I won't have you do anything that would risk your family. All I need is for you to see the unfiltered information," Susannah states all calm and clever wordplay.

Jonas and Luka share a look.

"We accept."

* * *

"Do you have a lover, pet?"

Elijah asked without any inflection to his voice, but it still made her draw in a short breath. "Are they sympathetic to your needs or do you keep your liaisons short and sweet?"

The way he looks at her...she can't quite describe it. Like she's something he's closed his fingers around in the dark, never to let go. She takes a small step back, before beginning to pace.

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I delight in you playing coy, my darling, now is not the time for humility. You're a beautiful woman. I'm sure you've garnered more than your fair share of attention."

She nearly rolls her eyes.

"You can't tell by just looking at me?" Susannah asked shortly. "You disappoint me Mr. Mikaelson."

His mouth quirks into a killer's smile, the smirk is congratulatory, impressed, willing. Far too many teeth and not enough innocence.

"Tell me, sweet Susannah, is there anyone for whom you would rearrange the stars for?"

Elijah Mikaelson is, in spite of himself, was a bit of an incurable romantic. Susannah supposes it comes with the penchant for aesthetic.

She scoffs.

"No. But sometimes I think about rearranging them anyway." She thinks for a second. "You should be careful with your questions."

"Should I?"

And Susannah, for all the things she is good at, is not good at this- at conversations that matter, and conversations that don't, and this is so far out of the realm of normal and so she tries to steer them back into the realm of boundaries and professionalism. Her stare one of sadness and defiance that is uniquely her own.

"Let's just keep this professional."

"God forbid we become friendly," his voice is a smooth purr, and it's not quite mocking- more of an invitation, if only she is brave enough or stupid enough to take it.

 _A dare, if Susannah wasn't mistake._

Tempting her, to what- she isn't sure- not yet.

Susannah scoffed a little, complete with a rebuff to hit the Mikaelson where it hurt- in the impeccably dressed (vain, she'd known it at first glance) man's ego.

"Like I said, I don't find you that interesting."

Elijah held in a barred teeth grin.

If Susannah was trying to push him away she'd have to try a lot harder than that. Elijah always got what he wanted. And with every dodge and deflection, Susannah simply whetted Elijah's appetite for him to crack open that mind of hers and discover the way it worked.

" _Like I said_ ," Elijah parroted with a smug grin. "You will."

* * *

She couldn't understand why he insisted she stay.

It's not like there was a drought of romantic partners available to his whims, someone who would enjoy his presence more than she. But Susannah knew she could justify her spending time with him as a way to satisfy their little bargain and for her to get the book.

Because damn it all to hell she was going to get what she came for if it killed her.

"Here." A warm glass of a pale golden liquid was pressed into Susannah's hand. "Tea to relax your mind."

"How very thoughtful of you." Susannah said dryly, taking a saccharine sip and watching Elijah retreat back towards the kitchen. It was an open area with no doorways between the kitchen and the dining area, so Susannah could watch him unhindered.

"I only intend to provide easy assurance."

"This is terrible tea," she says after her first sip.

The tea is probably some unbelievably elegant, expensive infusion, but it mostly taste like herbs with a bitter floral aftertaste.

Elijah smiles at her then, as though he is simply thrilled that Susannah doesn't like his stupid tea. He had been getting his way for far too long with no one to argue with, and Susannah's refusal to accept Elijah's words as fact made her amusing.

Susannah took another gulp of the terrible fucking tea for lack of anything better to do. "Christ! What is this?"

"Chamomile with an infusion of lavender."

"Oh."

"Indeed," Elijah replies pleasantly.

He moved gracefully about the kitchen, the very picture of control and skill as he manipulated the food around him into art. He seemed to take it upon himself to cook lunch for her, which Susannah found only a little endearing. Underneath the white rolled sleeves of his collared shirt the muscles of his forearms were easily visible as they flexed under his skin, a taste of power.

"So you're cooking for me?"

"Of course," Elijah shrugged. "It would be counterproductive to starve you."

" _I hope it's better than the terrible fucking tea_ ," She muttered under her breath.

And Elijah actually huffed a laugh. When she risked a glance towards his eyes he looked ridiculously fond. And she immediately pretended she had never seen that expression on his face.

Neither of them spoke for a while, knowing not every silence needed to be filled. It wasn't until Elijah caught her staring at a large painting to her immediate right, did he seem curious.

"It's called: The Temptation and Fall of Eve." Elijah followed her gaze. "You don't like it?"

It wasn't that she didn't like it, but rather that she couldn't force herself to look away. Eve's body seemed to glow, not because of the forbidden tree branches hanging low around her, but because light seemed to flow from her skin, which was painted to look like an angular, stony figure. Not traditionally beautiful but her position as the first seemed to bolster her anyway. The serpent was twined around her, and Eve leaned into his embrace, taking the fruit from the mouth of the devil. Quite literally eating his words.

And Adam was turned away, oblivious to the catastrophic seduction occurring before him, unaware of the beautiful apocalypse in Eve and the snake.

It was rather...vulgar. A light flush reddened her cheeks.

 _Odd thing to have hanging up on a wall near the kitchen._

"Well there is certainly nothing reserved about it...it's nearly pornographic," Susannah said. To soften the taste of her words she adds gently, "I think it is beautiful."

"Is that why you prevent yourself from reaching out to touch it?" Elijah asked. Susannah shrugged although the question stung and buried deep.

"I don't want touch it."

"Why?"

"Not everything that is beautiful is meant to be touched."

"But you wanted to," Elijah countered almost immediately. The steady sound of whatever he's cutting filling the air. "Your hand twitched towards it."

She wants to say that doesn't mean anything, but Elijah pays too much attention to believe that. Every little thing she does is being cataloged.

"I don't want to ruin it."

"That says far more about your perception of yourself than it does about how beautiful you find the art."

Susannah tried her best not to react and instead asked the next reasonable question she could think of. "Who painted it?"

Elijah was quiet for a beat before saying, "Niklaus."

"He is rather talented."

Humming in agreement, Elijah continued moving around the kitchen unperturbed but she could sense something so very off within him.

Here is the thing about Elijah Mikaelson.

Elijah is lonely.

It almost seems too banal an emotion for someone like Elijah but it is the right one nonetheless. Something happened to him, something terrible; she couldn't see it all, the loss of someone, a sibling maybe, younger most certainly. And so long ago, even before he became what he is now, Elijah turned himself into a sword, into a hunter and then he realized, as too many men do that not all swords can be melted down, and so he stayed that way.

"Do they know Niklaus is your brother?"

"No."

His voice was short, concise.

She could dig into that wound.

Easily too, uncover his realtionship with his brother. And just dig in until he snaps. The reckless part of her wants to.

"I've always found paintings unsettling," she confides instead. Choosing to be merciful.

"Eyes that follow you around the room?"

That raises a smile. "More like a soul that does. Too much of the person caught up in them. I avoid studying people for a reason; I don't particularly want to look at people's ghosts either."

"What ghost did my brother leave behind?" Elijah takes a saccharine sip of his own drink. A wry, dark, not smile, twisting his lips.

"The painting focuses on Eve, simultaneously giving her more agency and more blame." Susannah scrambled about for something more to say, licking the her lips. "The closeness of Eve and the serpent is almost a taunt to Adam, to God, to the way she was created..." Susannah trailed off, her throat closing up.

"The legend has always been, at its core, a story of seduction." Elijah taking a large sip of his own drink. "There is... _eroticism_ in the way she was painted with the serpent, with the focus falling on their embrace instead of on Adam. Instead of showing the purity of the garden of Eden and Heaven, the painting shows the beauty in atrocity, the irresistible attraction to sin."

"You speak like an artist."

Something flashed beneath the surface of his hardened expression and she hurried to investigate the sudden shift. It was too late, the emotion disappeared before Susannah could identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon; the string dangling so tantalizingly close but the wind pushed it away and it's lost forever.

"I'm not in the traditional sense." Elijah replied quietly. "I prefer art in the form of music."

If he really wanted to, he had the patience needed to paint large portraits of sceneries on top of sceneries, but just imagining the paint staining his hands, his body, his suits made his hands twitch, irritation running through his veins.

Elijah did not appreciate disorder.

He however did not expect to be seen...Susannah had made it clear she disliked eye-contact, and yet, he found himself caught in her gaze. Nearly freezing at the depth of the shadows and cunning intelligence behind her mask.

There was nothing obstructing her gaze, her hair pushed away, her eyes focused.

Just Susannah.

And Elijah was quick to realize how dangerous a thing "just Susannah" could be.

Even to someone like him.

"A focus on the lack of morality instead of the presence of it."

"Eve is not unlike you."

Susannah forced a chuckle, but it sounded fake to her own ears. "Are you trying to insult me?"

"Not at all."

Susannah arched a brow, half-believing and half-surprised.

"I'm afraid there is no creature of hell trying to attract my attention."

Elijah's lips curved into a smirk. "No?"

"My life is no garden of Eden, and I would have noticed a snake slithering towards me by now."

Elijah paused considering his words. When he responded, his accent was as sharp as ever, but something different had manifested in his voice. His intensity was jarring.

"The fallen takes whatever form that would be most pleasing. What do you think he seduced Eve with?"

Susannah shifted, feeling vaguely caged in. She could recognize the pleasant scents of whatever Elijah was cooking, and the warmth in the air but something kept a nervousness blossoming in her lower stomach. Did he realize he compared her to Eve and is now asking what Susannah believed would seduce her? Glancing into the darkness of his eyes, she realized he was more than aware. It was intentional.

Susannah took a steadying breath.

"You know for someone inherently not religious, you're awfully interested in it. What's to be said about that?"

"Perhaps it is not religion that catches my attention, but rather the parallels in it." A pause, a long moment in which neither of them moved, not willing to break their minds apart. "Sweetness, can you see yourself as Eve?"

"Would that make you my serpent, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Elijah grinned, her eyes couldn't keep up with him as he suddenly appeared before her and she had to look up to see him. He leaned towards the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply, scenting her. "If you want me to be."

Susannah swallowed.

"Although," he continued. "Being likened to the devil is not very flattering."

"The son of God. Divinity invested with power, grace and beauty, how could it not be flattering?"

"That is very silver-tongued of you," Elijah forced a mild smile. He wanted to reach out and touch her, hide her away for his eyes and his alone. "Perhaps serpent-tongued would be more appropriate."

She quickly stands, and Elijah steps back to give her the room to do so. She can feel the heat in her cheeks and decidedly hates how flustered she feels.

 _Why is she even here again?_

"Mr. Mikaelson," she started sweetly, almost coy. "Here is something you should know of me. When I want your input, especially about who you think I am, _I'll ask for it_."

He stepped forward.

It was just a step but it felt...threatening.

The temperature dropped and the world descended into absolute silence.

"Being uncomfortable makes you rude."

"Can't say you don't contribute to the sharpening of my tongue."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was sharp regardless."

"What are you doing?"

"You already know the answer to that." The words are spoken lowly as he inclines his head to look more clearly at her.

All of his focus just on her. As if she were the most fascinating thing this world had to offer.

"No I don't."

"What am I doing? An interesting question. For now, it would appear, against better judgement, that I am simply an admiring you."

"Simply," Susannah parrots back, then considers what Elijah doesn't say. Elijah seems to allow it, even standing taller beneath her stare. The weight of his admission feels too heavy, and she moves as if its a burden. She waits until Elijah comes back into the kitchen area for her to slide back into the chair. "Have you discovered a new fascination at my expense, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Elijah turns to the pans on the stove, away from Susannah.

"I'm too easy a target," She murmurs when the silence drifts on.

Elijah pauses at that. "You underestimate yourself. I am not wrong about you."

Susannah chuckles, a self-deprecating noise.

"You may not be exactly right, either," She admits. Despite the shabby outward appearance of the apartment, the interior was rather luxurious, she could tell the ancient vampire appreciated it, if his attire was anything to go by- he was rather materialistic.

"You affect me differently."

"You don't affect me at all," Susannah returns. The flush of color beneath the skin of her cheeks scream otherwise, but Susannah was sure Elijah wouldn't call her out on it.

"We are well suited then, in that regard." Elijah's tongue flicks over his lips involuntarily as he glances down at the beautiful girl, sitting so pretty for him. "Indulge me?"

He moves closer to her, and her eyes catch the gleam of the knife he holds. It's sharp.

"You look nervous, Susannah." He crouched before her, trying to meet her eyes. "You shouldn't be. You have nothing to worry about."

And logically she knew if he intended to attack her he wouldn't need a knife. But the prospect of him having it still made her stomach tighten. "Forgive me, Mr. Mikaelson, but that's a very sharp blade."

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

Susannah found she believed him wholeheartedly.

"I am not so easily undone."

He moved so suddenly her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to process what happened, she hated that he used his speed so easily. Elijah's lips quirked slightly, and then his hand slid around the back of Susannah's head, an almost gentle caress. A moment later his fingers found her hair and yanked abruptly, tugging Susannah's head back to expose the length of her throat.

Susannah let out a sharp gasp, her eyelids fluttering for a moment. Elijah wondered if she realized what a picture she made. He was by no means an artist and photography wasn't something he cared for greatly, but in this moment he truly wanted to have her immortalized through a picture of her. When she opened her eyes again, Elijah was so close Susannah could feel his breath. "You really do need to start trusting me, Susannah."

"Is that what this is?" Susannah asked as Elijah bent to examine her throat. "A trust exercise?"

"Hardly," Elijah replied, the knife digging into her throat painfully but not enough to draw blood. "This is merely for my enjoyment."

Susannah laughed then. "What happened to the ever honorable Elijah Mikaelson?"

Elijah remained passive as ever. "He's curious."

"If I were to draw this knife across your throat, would you die?"

Susannah felt her throat move against the knife as she swallowed. Her eyes flash, narrowed enough to only show wide pupils, and she lifts her chin in equal parts challenge and invitation.

"Are you going to hurt me, Elijah?"

He tilts his head, eyes falling to the curve of her neck. "Possibly," He concedes, "but I'd rather not."

She knew he wouldn't. Not now anyways. He was testing her. Trying to see if the prospect of a blade to the neck scared her like it would a human.

Susannah's lips twitch, a half-feral smile and something deeply satisfied, like she had won a bet with herself. She hums, loudly, angles her head so the blade slices a small cut into her neck, and reaches out to pet him with gracious, tender touches. God, red looks beautiful on her. "It would kill me, but not permanently," she breathes. She's coaxing, a lure with a sharp hook hidden beneath her sweetness.

He moves to wrap his hand around her throat.

Touching her was like experiencing synesthesia, a brief, jarring collision of visions and smells and sounds.

A sky devoid of clouds where there skin met, red, setting suns when their eyes met. The sense of falling and falling and falling and then the taste of asphalt and earth tucked behind Elijah's teeth, black feathers against never-ending blue. Everything high contrast, colors over saturated.

And then, after a frozen second, he pulled away, wiping her blood off the edge of the knife with his fingers. He rubs the liquid between his pointer finger and thumb testing the consistency. Susannah's breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding like that of a hummingbird. She didn't want him to taste her blood, she had gone too far in proving herself that she knew there was no way to back out. He turns and throws the blade in the sink, letting the water wash away her blood, and the relief she feels is obvious.

He leaves Susannah, wandering around the kitchen and preparing her food as if a second ago he didn't hold a blade to her neck.

"Forgive me my darling," he murmurs a second later. His smile had a way of being naturally charismatic -probably to do with his easy assurance."That was unpardonably rude of me. Perhaps a touch impulsive, if you will."

Susannah ponders his request for a second.

Excitement swirls in her belly, she hadn't felt this dangerous and powerful in years, oddly enough.

"The one and only Elijah Mikaelson being impulsive? How the mighty have fallen."

"I suppose you bring it out of me, my sweet Susannah."

"One could go as far to call you desperate."

Susannah put a delicate emphasis on the word. She knew it was childish to try and taunt Elijah, but she couldn't help herself really.

" ** _I want to understand you_**."

"Unlikely to ever happen, but good luck trying."

Elijah chuckles good naturedly, setting a plate before her, the steam and wonderful scent of food calming her nerves.

"Perhaps." The plate is a decoration of color and Susannah can't help the way her mouth waters. She is somewhat surprised, when Elijah showed no interest in preparing a plate for himself. Only when he poured blood into a glass goblet did she understand.

And she hated the way her eyes followed the flow of the blood as a different kind of hunger dipped into her. Her pupils dilated and she quickly looked away, but not fast enough to avoid Elijah's eyes.

Susannah looked positively starved.

Elijah can't help but imagine what she is like feeding, blood dripping down her chin. He imagines Susannah free of any restraints placed on herself, those that become more apparent the more they talk. Susannah is holding back the animal within, and he can't help but feel he is working on filling in a puzzle that he doesn't have all the pieces required to complete, but Elijah knows when he finds them the complete puzzle will thrill him. He just has to keep digging into the wonderful mind of hers.

"Have you ever tasted blood?"

"What an odd question," She tried to deflect.

"But valid nonetheless."

Her heartbeat comes alive in her throat, in the red color of her cheeks. It's soft pulsing increasing in anticipation. Drawing a deep breath, trying to find something to say, "I've cut my lip before, so yes."

"Not your own," He lets out a short derisive laugh and leaned in so he was only inches from her face.

"I'm not like you."

"Your not like them either."

She shuts her eyes. No longer wanting to see anything.

"How does it taste for you, sweet Susannah?"

She doesn't say a word.

"Do you delight-"

"You delight. I tolerate." She explains plainly, feeling the blood rushing in her veins. "I don't have your appetite."

"What does blood taste like, Susannah?"

He could just imagine cleaning the blood off her lips with the application of his own. Sharing savage pleasures.

Susannah looks up at him, her expression exposing a stray hint of nervousness. "I don't know."

He raises a brow. "How long have you denied yourself this, Susannah?" He asks softly. reaching out to brush his fingers on the side of her cheek, like one would pet a spooked animal. "I know you want it. I can see it in your eyes. Does it scare you?" Elijah pauses, and Susannah twists her hands together. "No, that's not it. The hunger doesn't scare you- it repulses you. You've fought it for so long, haven't you?"

Susannah feels tears sting her eyes.

"No one could ever be able to doubt your strength. Your endurance."

He doesn't understand. He can't understand.

"Do you remember the taste of blood?"

She flinches at his question. Her breath is coming out in short pants. "I don't want it."

The look of satisfaction makes her want to take everything she ever said to him back. The area around them is large enough but she can't quite shake the feeling of claustrophobia. It's not a new experience. Elijah seems to do that everywhere.

"You're denying part of yourself-"

Susannah is tired of the delicate tortures that constitute Elijah's interrogations. They're like being presented with a length of silk: so temptingly refined and elegant in their flowing and graceful folds and its only when one is halfway submerged they realize that there are razor blades stitched into the seams.

"I'm leaving."

She stood but Elijah blocked her path. His face blank, although in the flickering light he nearly looks more...human. She can't help but wonder why him holding a knife to her throat didn't bother her as much as his insistent questioning.

"Is that why you didn't heal? Because although you can live without blood you cannot thrive?"

"Elijah, please."

The softness of her eyes stop him. And he is thinly aware this is the first time she had addressed him with the familiarity of his first name. She looks at him, her eyes impossibly big and her bottom lip jutted out. And by everything he cannot deny her.

So he sits.

Waiting patiently for her decision.

Will she stay or will she go.

When she sits again he has to fight back a smile. Thankful she had chosen out of everything to stay.

The vulnerability from before is gone and replaced with a chin held high and eyes absolutely apathetic and cool. She showed no restlessness, no anxiousness, and no weakness.

 _Such fine control, what will you be like when I strip you of it?_ Elijah's watching her only because the simple truth is Susannah is captivating. Almost perfect, in fact, in her extreme and excessive imperfection. All seemingly designed purely for Elijah's express enjoyment. In a world that's rife with the dull, blind, mechanical people, Susannah is a sublime specimen filled with passionate energy.

He can just imagine her in a room of mirrors trying to avoid her own reflection.

They both enjoy their respective meals in silence, Elijah waiting until Susannah felt comfortable enough to speak again.

"Thank you, Mr. Mikaelson." Susannah said with a little cough, "For the food that is."

"Of course."

They hold still before Susannah blurts out, "The journal? The one you promised, do you truly have it?"

Elijah smiles. "I almost thought you had forgotten."

"Never."

Elijah goes to collect the journal, and once he leaves Susannah lets out a deep breath. She hates feeling so many things at once. Fear, excitement, anger, slight arousal, all swirling around inside like a circus lion. An animal of freedom caged.

He places it on the table and Susannah feels shock rack through her. How many years has it been since she'd seen this. Since she touched something so familiar.

"Reading these ancient stories," Elijah said kindly. "I think I may be able to make sense of what happened to you." Susannah wanted to bark out a sarcastic sound of denial. Wanted to stand up and tell him there was no way he could make sense of what happened to her, the journey that led her to rest in a coffin. No way, he would understand the loss she endured along the way, the pain she survived. No, he couldn't understand the sacrafice, the risk, the knowledge.

"No offense, Mr. Mikaelson," Susannah said softly, "but that's like looking through a keyhole and claiming you can see the whole room."

* * *

Elijah drops her off soon after that, a block away at her insistence.

He opens the car door for her like the gentleman he is. And Susannah feels his hand as he helps her out of the car, and she hates that she wants to feel it all over.

"It is an exercise in caution, conversing with you. I have forgotten; have become dulled by the fools that plague me, suffering in a cesspool of mediocrity."

"Maybe you can take some time and reflect on that," Susannah replies casually. "You've little to do otherwise it seems."

Elijah stared at her like a starving man stares at a three course meal. "You are a delight. An utter delight, Susannah."

"Oh I know," She replied. "I know."

And as she is walking her his voice floats from behind. "I think Artemis would admire you."

Ealier today, Susannah stood across from the original, and told the ancient vampire she didn't find him interesting.

No one's ever made her a liar so quickly.

* * *

Bonnie immediately drags her to the couch her eyes burning with determination as she primly sat down.

"Bon-"

"What do you know about Elijah?"

Susannah licked her lips, tasting the memory of terrible tea on them. "Not much." And the lie burns, it burns like every other lie she's kept from her young descendant. She can just imagine the hell the young girl will raise when she finds out that Susannah isn't entirely a witch. Bonnie already has a visible dislike of vampires and how can she blame her? Vampires have taken so much and Susannah feels just like just another person taking from her.

"Elena said he knew you, Susannah."

"He knew _of_ me." _at the time_ , Susannah bit back defensively. "There is a difference."

"He was the one who brought you back to Mystic Falls, wasn't he?"

She lets her eyes drop to the floor. "Yes."

"Is he trustworthy?"

"Bonnie," Susannah immediately admonished, "I hardly know him."

"That's not what I am asking though," Bonnie maintained stubbornly. Crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head. Her whole expression dancing with hidden fire.

"He is...careful with his words. I don't think he likes to lie really or break his word, but I don't think he particularly minds loopholes." She taps her fingers nervously against her thigh. Trying to even out her breathing. "I think he is not against any of us, just his plans will take priority."

Bonnie turns away, a considering tilt to her jaw.

"I don't really know him, Bonnie." And Susannah is surprised at how honest the words feel. Because although she knew the basic facts, she didn't know anything more than that. She knew the bare minimum.

Bonnie doesn't snap like she half expects, instead she wraps her thin arms around her and holds her close. Susannah can hear her heart beating at a comfortable pace and the feelings pouring off of her only speak of concern. "I wish you would have told us he was still alive, but I get why you didn't."

"You do?"

Bonnie bites her lip. "I know you don't want to be involved in all of this. It's why you didn't tell me you were a witch and why lately you've been so...distant."

"Bonnie-"

"No," She cuts her off. "Let me say this, if you don't want to get involved I understand but at least talk to me. I miss you, Susannah. You are the only person, it feels like, that genuinely just wants what's best for me. And now that grams is-" She cuts herself off with a shaky breath. "Now that grams is gone, I need you, more than ever."

Susannah feels the guilt fester in her stomach as tears immediately start pouring from her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Bonnie."

"You lost her too."

They sit in silence for a moment. Before Bonnie curls herself into Susannah, the two girls practically becoming one as they laid down. "Grief is exhausting, isn't it?"

"Very much so."

"Hey lightening?" Bonnie asks lowly, blinking back the emotional exhaustion the day has brought. Her words are muffled against Susannah's neck, and she can smell something sweet off her cousin.

"Yes, thunder?"

"Elena wants you to seduce Elijah." Bonnie practically spat out the words so quickly as if they were fire on her tongue. She shifts as Susannah wraps her arms loosely around her. The contact isn't unusual, the girls are both pretty much touch starved at this point. Susannah because she never seem interested in letting other people outside of her family in, and Bonnie because she pretty much was ignored unless someone needed something from her. Although lately, Jeremy had been rather...attentive.

"What?" Susannah said emptily.

"She said that he looked at you like..."

"Like what?"

"Like he wanted to devour you."

Frowning Susannah shakes her head. Her mind already making connections, she could accept, and in theory it would explain why she spent time with Elijah, and if seen with him, who would truly question it? It would keep her bargain with Elijah much more protected as well and she wouldn't really have to seduce anyone, either. Not that she actually knew how to seduce anyone, which was sad enough in itself.

"Bonnie-"

"You don't have to...It was just an idea."

Susannah curls her fingers into a fist. "I'll do it."

"Really?"

"But," Susannah said making a snap decision. "You have to promise me that you won't let yourself be used anymore."


	7. Chapter 7

Niklaus Mikaelson never particularly put much thought into his dreams.

He had a thousand years worth of them anyways, so to hold onto a new one seemed rather unnecessary. Still as he sat up in bed, cradling his head in his hands all he could recall was the vivid colors that had previously danced through his mind.

 _Her hair lies black, twisted into a messy bun and accented with a simple hairclip. She has strong cheekbones. The kind angels were recorded as owning, and her nose is cute and pert. She is the sort of girl to be accosted in the grocery store as stealing the hearts of men and women, and every bit of her is to be worshipped and loved. Her skin was passing delicate golden browns, and try as he might, Niklaus cannot turn away._

 _The sky is perfectly blue and the air smells just right, but something is inherently wrong. So very wrong._

 _She's wearing a dress, it's ripped and blood valleys at her chest. And she is trying to say something to him. Almost screaming, but no words leave her mouth._

 _She holds a coin, old and covered in dirt, the engravings worn and the head of the king so tarnished as to be stolen from view. She presses it into his hand, and the heat of it burns his palm._

 _"I want to worship you," The words fall out of his mouth and his hands tighten into fist. And he knows deep down he truly does, she is noticeably pretty, and the dress clings to her body in ways he finds painfully unfair. Beneath the light she glows, and as she holds her head high she reminds him of a queen._

 _He wants to touch her, smell her, taste her- and her eyes are the jolt that stops him. And she smells like a bakery, more delicious than any one flavor, and it reminds him of a home he never had._

 _"You know we can't talk like that." Her voice is delicate and she is closer than he remembers her being. He could feel her breath, and those eyes, they stare at him so beautifully, there is no fear or loathing in them either, he wonders for a thin moment if she is an enchantress._

 _They are immobile. Content to just watch one another. Damn the skies, she is beautiful. He can feel her power, it is made up of-_

 _"Shadows and light," he whispers out. "Fascinating combination."_

 _"Mostly shadows, to be honest." She leans towards him, and the smolder in her eyes make him feel like a child. "But lets just keep that between us."_

 _And then she cries, eyes closed to him, shut against his feelings. She screams- how she screams as the wound on her chest grows larger and more blood is pooling, dripping to the floor._

"No, no!" Klaus lurches from his bed as he awoke, fingers scraping over his chest, heat screaming in his throat. In his hand a gold coin is holding heavy, and his mouth runs dry. He pulls himself from the bed and keeps a tight hold on the coin, it is his now. When he lifts the coin to his face and smells it, all he can smell is the girl from his dreams.

Before he knows it he is heading to his painting room, a rush of inspiration filling him, desperate to get the girl down on paper before she flees from his mind.

Greta is awake, just outside his room. He can see she is desperate to reach for him, because he knows her. He knows Greta like he knows fighting, like he knows killing. He knows the smell of fear and the rawness of blood against her skin. He knows that she flares her nostrils very slightly when she lies and that she puts her hand between her knees when she sleeps.

But she is not the girl from his dreams, and although he is fond of her, it is like how one cares for a lap dog until they bite.

"What are you doing, love?"

She flinches at the question and he watches as she steels herself and a flirty smile forms on her face. "I wanted to visit you."

Niklaus kept his face blank and finally feels an anger so deep, he is angry she loves him. Angry she thinks he is hers.

"You're in love with me," Niklaus works the words slowly, he still needs her after all. "But I could never be in love with you."

She just stares, the wound in her eyes raw and growing. And he kisses her to soften the blow before brushing past her. He knows she won't hold it against him, and that tomorrow all will be forgiven. He had found the newest doppelganger after all and was about to get everything he rightfully deserved, but first he had to find the right shade of green to paint his dream girl's eyes.

* * *

When Bonnie woke up all she could think about was her coin and a man with a nice smile.

Her hands are shaking and for some reason her chest hurts. Jumping out of bed, she immediately look for the protection coin Grams had given her, one of the last things she had ever gotten from Sheila Bennett. She grows more desperate in her searching when it doesn't immediately turn up and she swallows down her panic.

It was just a dream.

She couldn't have just given away her coin especially to a man that only existed in her dreams. She wouldn't have. And yet the panic that claws at her chest grows in every second.

"Are you okay?" Susannah stands in the doorway, as always coming as if she could feel Bonnie's emotions, her hair a frizzy mess. Bonnie always liked seeing Susannah like that, it made her feel more relatable.

"I'm fine," She replies immediately, nearly cursing herself for lying so freely. Her tone had been too aloof, too nonchalant to be the truth.

There's something of a twitch in her cousins face as her gaze meets Bonnie's eyes. It always felt as if she were being pulled apart into her base instincts, read and translated as if she were on paper.

"Okay." Susannah says a second later though she sounds hesitant.

"Really I am, just had a weird dream."

Susannah hums at that. She drops into the bed beside Bonnie, her face carefully blank. And Bonnie can't help but wince because she knows, she knows what Susannah is going to ask of her.

"Have you made a decision?"

Bonnie flinches and digs her nails into her palms.

"Susannah, you can't ask me to not help my friends...they are my family and I love-"

"And I understand that," Susannah replies heatedly, she knows Susannah is trying for patience, trying to hide her fear. Because that's what this all comes down to. Susannah doesn't want to lose her. It had always been hard to explain, their attachment to one another but it's there.

Bonnie thinks its because Susannah always seemed so alone. She never talked about her parents or any siblings, but from what she can conclude they weren't kind to her. Grams- a pinch twists her heart- Grams had always seemed especially sympathetic towards Susannah. And Bonnie was far from blind, Susannah wasn't a sharer by any means but she wasn't completely hidden either.

And Bonnie, well what did she have other than Susannah?

Her mother left- as if she didn't matter, her father couldn't bear to stay close, and Grams...Grams was in the ground due to a spell she should have never done. Bonnie tries to not feel angry at Susannah for not stepping in, for not doing to spell in place of Shelia, but she can't help the sting of bitterness. She knows it wasn't her responsibility and that Susannah had been against helping in the first place citing that "Damon was a childish dick who didn't deserve anything" but the pain and anger still did linger.

And some instinctive part of her, oddly enough, felt like Susannah knew that.

"How about we compromise?" Bonnie asks lightly.

Susannah tilts her head although her face doesn't change. Bonnie knows that means she's wiling to listen.

"Seducing Elijah could be potentially dangerous and I don't want you in a dangerous place ever," Bonnie's breath catches at the idea of burying Susannah, her only true family, and Susannah sensing her thoughts drops her hand onto Bonnie's thigh. "But I know you and I know you wouldn't willingly put yourself in a situation you couldn't get out of and I trust your judgement. But you asking me not to help my friends- I- I don't think I am capable of standing by and doing nothing. I can't disconnect myself from everything like you-"

Susannah flinches at that, and Bonnie knows she didn't word that right but too late to go back now, setting her jaw determinedly she pushes forward.

"I won't let my life come into danger in helping them, is that okay? Is that enough?"

And Bonnie rubs her face wondering when everything truly got so complicated. Because it's not like she wants Susannah to do anything dangerous, and she knows when push comes to shove she would protect her over Elena, over everyone, but when other people's lives hang in the balance is it wrong of her to ask her cousin to do this?

Bonnie doesn't know. It certainly doesn't feel right, but Susannah almost seemed thrilled at the prospect. _Is Susannah attracted to Elijah?_ Bonnie nearly wants to ask, but Bonnie knows she wouldn't necessarily be equipped to handle the answer. I mean how could she, truly, vampires took her Grams.

"I guess it has to be," Susannah sighs. "It's not like I could really stop you anyways."

When Susannah walks out later to get started on breakfast, Bonnie can hardly hold back her breath of relief.

Almost as quickly as Susannah had invaded her thoughts she is gone.

And only the man from her dreams remains.

* * *

 _Are you prepared to be seduced?_

The text is short and Susannah snorts wondering if the original even knew how to operate his phone. She had saved her number in it when he hadn't been looking, mostly because she wanted to catch him off guard, it seemed fun at the time anyways.

She had long started breakfast when she feels the vibration of her phone against her thigh.

Digging into the pockets of her sweats she smiles at his response.

 _Always, sweetness._

* * *

"How comes your understanding, Mikaelson?"

Elijah smiled, he looked genuinely pleased to see her, he absolutely adores her wit. "It slowly grows with every encounter."

"I thought I said we could meet at two, though?" Susannah says, she looks over Elijah with wide eyes, and tucks a stray curl behind her ear to expose modest pearl earrings. She truly makes a stunning, classic image. "Did I not say two? Honestly, I can't remember anymore-"

He's an hour early, deliberately of course.

Before Susannah can work herself into a frenzy of thoughts, Elijah's hands find her waist, reeling her in for a chaste kiss on her cheek. He can feel the prickling sensation of eyes on him, subtly he glances towards the bar and sees the Salvatore's and Ms. Gilbert watching, he suppresses a smile.

"You are the finest of treasures, Sweet Susannah."

Her head snaps up. There's a sharpness about her, assessing the truthfulness of Elijah's words and the intent behind it. He wonders if she has been conditioned to analyze every compliment she's ever received, or if she's just skeptical of Elijah specifically due to their arrangement (which has grown increasingly more complicated due to Susannah now 'seducing' him). He quickly decides that is unacceptable.

"Alright," She whispers sounding on the knife's edge of embarrassment and pride. Susannah draws close and nuzzles hesitantly at his jaw, it is affectionate and sweet and purely for the eyes watching them.

"Apologies on my early arrival, it seems I overestimated traffic."

Susannah raised a brow, "Or you wanted to see me on your terms rather than mine."

"I wanted to see you. I couldn't wait."

"You didn't want to wait."

"It seems to me like they are the same thing. I needed you. Now I have you."

She pulls back and laughs, it is summery and warm and gives him more pleasure than it should for being entirely fake.

"Something amusing, sweetness?"

And the blush that reddens her cheeks makes a smug smirk curve his lips.

"You brought food? To a place with food served?" Susannah looks at him with genuine joy, biting her lips. For a moment the light glimmers over her and she shines But the moment is gone to quickly for him to pin down.

"I feel as though my own culinary abilities will far surpass whatever is served here."

Her eyebrow archs.

"Your ego is rather impressive, Mikaelson," She said with a slyness to her voice- a surprising amount of flirtation in it. "What did you bring me?"

There is a persistent sense of anticipation at the thought of Susannah consuming his cooking, of him providing for her. "Lamb Kokkinisto and orzo, with a salad of tomato and cucumbers."

Susannah pauses, in her movements glancing down at the bag as though she might see straight through it, and then turns back to Elijah. "Really?"

"Yes," he replies with a faint frown. "I hope that's acceptable."

Their hands are twined. Susannah's fingers are chilled. The angle they rest hidden in there is no way for the Salvatore's or Elena to see their hands, or Elijah would use that excuse to rub warmth back into her skin. "I mean, yeah, of course, I'm just—" she laughs, a little awkward, she touches her face, ducks her chin. "It's kind of you."

Ah, so the discomfort lies in being provided for. Susannah is a solitary creature used to looking out for herself. It's likely that any sort of unexpected attention will always make her feel ill at ease—at least until she grows to expect it. Elijah wonders absently if she could perhaps be trained to anticipate care, _demand_ it, to seek out Elijah to fulfill her needs.

Her responding expression is complicated; a little bit of a smile, a bit of a frown. "You could have just said no to this."

And he knows she means more in the game they are perpetuating, more than the bargain between them.

"Nonsense," Elijah replies. He leans closer and crowds Susannah comfortably, absorbing the warmth of her body and savoring the subtle dilation of her pupils. "You wanted to see me, I wanted to see you. Bringing you something was the least I could do for you, Susannah."

She flushes and presses back. Her eyes dart around searching for an escape. He has overwhelmed her. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Elijah smiles good-naturedly, "Take your time."

He watches her leave, the subtle sway of her hips.

And then someone sits down across from him.

He's not sure what he expects-some curious friend of Susannah, perhaps, or Bonnie coming to in inquire of his business with Susannah. When he sees Elena Gilbert, with her familiar features, pursed lips, and dark eyes. He's not sure what he is supposed to pull from her presence.

"Hello, Elijah," she says with a bright smile. She inclines her head towards the bathroom. "Here with Susannah?"

Elijah follows her gaze. It's sharp attentiveness, and realizes quickly that Elena is not Susannah's friend. The saccharine-sweetness of her tone strikes him artificial.

It's an expert rendition of friendly interest, he'll admit. But there's shrewd calculation on her face, and Elijah is a master of seeing through pretenses. From what rapid-fire information his mind gleans, he pieces together a quick conclusion- Elena Gilbert has no genuine interest in Susannah beyond her usefulness.

Elijah matches her smile with one of his own, unfailingly polite.

"Hello, Ms. Gilbert, and yes I am visiting Susannah."

"You two seem rather close," She leans forward, elbows on the table, and rests her chin on them. The gesture gives a rather generous view of her breasts if one cares to look.

Elijah does not.

Instead he notes her careful avoidance of the Salvatore brother's eyes, and raises a brow of his own. If she intends to test him, Elijah will let her think she won. Overconfidence is often the most revealing tell.

He levels her with a charming smile, and sits more upright; he angles his body towards her in subtle mimic. "I'm sure we do."

Elena's eyes flash with interest and flickering fury; she's young yet, and has not learned to hide her emotions. Her eyes crinkle in a way that is well practiced at appearing harmless, she is lacking nothing in her picture-perfect overture of welcome. If Elijah were a less intelligent man, he might not pick up on her friendly tone masking her irritation.

"So, Ms. Gilbert," Elijah continues without any particular weight, any indication that her name means anything to him, "How long have you known Susannah?"

"A while," She replies, her grin flickers but holds firm. He sees a flash of jealousy, inadequacy, she isn't used to not being preferred- no, no its more than that, she thinks Susannah is somehow better. "When Bonnie and I started getting close- seems like she was always here."

There's a brief moment of silence.

Elena alludes to friendship that Elijah knows doesn't exist. She's still avoiding the Salvatore brothers, searching for Elijah's interpretation of Susannah before she submits anything. "How long have _you_ known Susannah?"

Elijah tilted his head and the doppelganger rushed to correct herself.

"It just seemed like you knew her before Trevor and Rose..."

She lets her words hang off, as Elijah contemplates silently. How much of Susannah does she know? Elijah doubted she really knew anything, that anyone truly knew who she came from.

"A while," He parrots giving no specific time.

He searches out Susannah without being fully conscious of doing so, an automatic honing beacon that seems to have set itself in his mind. She has left the bathroom and is talking to a blonde bartender a sweet and surprisingly real smile on her lips. The bartender, Matt, his tag reads is a true friend of hers. If it weren't for the fact she's consumed in the conversation. Elijah might suspect her of engineering the way her skirt creeps up her thighs and stretches over the shapely curve of her ass.

 _Sinful really._

 _How could any man resist?_

"We get along quite well," Elijah adds, and the corners of his lips twitch, his eyes linger and slip up the slope of Susannah's spine, follows the trickle of a loose curl down the nape of her neck. "Intellectually compatible and singularly beautiful."

He bites down a small smile at the doppelgangers flinch.

Susannah straightens as though she feels the weight of Elijah's eyes as a physical touch. For a moment she is still and silent with her back to him and one ear tipped to the air, a wolf listening for the howl of her pack...

"That's good." Elena grounds out, her smile too wide to be real.

...or the growl of an enemy.

There is murder in Susannah's eyes and a lover's smile on her lips, and she must know that smile is a weapon, as she summons herself to Elijah's side. Elena eyes Susannah with cruel contemplation, but even she hesitates at the ease with which Susannah leans over Elijah's seated form. She slips one hand into Elijah's hair and tenderly cradles the back of his neck. It's so intimate and possessive that even Elijah is momentarily caught off guard.

"Elena good to see you," Susannah says with every tonal indication that this is uneventful but pleasing news. Even outside the scope of Elena's narrowed eyes, Susannah's thumb massages sensual circles at the base of Elijah's skull.

Two can play at Susannah's little game, and Elijah is as experienced at playing clueless as he is at being clever. "Yes, we were just talking about you."

Her smile is frozen, chilling. Elena's beaming grin is a porcelain mask.

"Thank you for keeping _my love_ company, Elena, but I think I'm done now."

Elena leans back in her chair, every muscle in her body held stiff. "Shame, and I thought we were getting along so well," she says, and her eyes fall to Elijah. Her voice is smug with satisfaction. She pronounces every syllable when she purrs, "Intellectually compatible."

It's a purposeful dig at Susannah, for what reason, Elijah isn't quite sure.

It's a shame for _her_ that Susannah is a predator backing away, but not backing down, and Elijah is always willing to indulge.

Then she laughs, soft and clear as a bell. She bends at the waist to nuzzle the top of Elijah's head; Elijah slips his arm comfortably and possessively around her waist. It is a display any encroaching prospect would wisely heed: a statement shared by a mated pair that says _I am his and she is mine._

After all the greatest complement as an artist is to inspire another's work. Elijah is most keenly interested in attending this exhibition of Susannah's own making, watching the reverent eyes of the student become the steady hands of a master.

"You're in high demand, 'Lijah," Susannah says, and smooths back Elijah's hair to press a tender kiss to his jaw, her lips leave no trace, but for the burning impression Elijah feels on his skin. He gets the feeling Susannah doesn't touch many people, but since this is 'pretend' she doesn't seem so worried.

"My attentions belong solely to you," Elijah replies warmly. It's a two a subtle shot at the doppelganger (he does feel the vaguest of sympathies for Elena, for the girl who shares his first loves face, but he can hardly look at her with Susannah shinning so brightly) and Elena's lips thin with displeasure. Elijah offers her a polite nod. "The terms of our arrangement are still valid Ms. Gilbert, but I won't take any more of your time. Enjoy your day, Elena."

"You too, Elijah," She says sweetly. She rises and slinks towards the Salvatore's with frequent backwards glances.

Susannah sends him a short but victory induced smile. Picking up her phone she types out the words- _Are you being seduced effectively?_

Elijah chuckles lowly at that.

Her playfulness is much appreciated.

"Shall we have lunch?"

"Why not?" Susannah replies with sweet indulgence, and only pulls her hand from Elijah's in favor of gathering her belongings. "I think I can get away with some self-care time."

Elijah smirks and places his hand at Susannah's lower back, pitches his voice to be intimate but audible. "I believe your care is _my_ responsibility and privilege, if I'm not mistaken."

"Sometimes," Susannah says with a coy glance over her shoulder. "When I decide you've earned it."

"Have I earned _you_ yet today?"

Susannah zips her bag closed; Elijah reaches over before Susannah can stop him and lifts it onto his own shoulder, then slips the straps of the tote containing their lunch over his forearm. He can see her visibly war with herself and considers arguing. She's unsettled by Elijah taking care of her in this way, but their audience demands a gracious and thankful lover, and so Susannah has been put in check. Her brow crinkles at the realization before she smoothes it over. It's a victory for Elijah, albeit one that only he and Susannah can understand and enjoy.

"I think I'll let the food decide," Susannah says. She turns, their bodies close together, and is conscious of their curious audience when she reaches out to snag Elijah by his tie. She lingers close, head tilted, eyes fixated on Elijah's lips—

Susannah drops the tie gracelessly and turns away.

"If that's the case, then I'll have faith in my abilities," Elijah replies.

"You're that confident in yourself? Don't get me wrong, you are talented, but you don't honestly think you can change my mind, right?"

"Yes I do," Elijah says. Elena is well out of earshot but her boyfriends aren't, plus they have enough witnesses for Elijah to know he can get away with it when he says, "And I'm more than confident in my ability to please you, my dearest one."

Susannah pauses, she shoots Elijah a sidelong look, coolly unruffled despite the boldness of his suggestive implication. "That remains to be seen."

"All appetites at some point demand to be sated."

Her eyes flash. There is the threat of danger in her aura, and the vibrations of Susannah's irritated instincts in the atmosphere are addictive.

Elijah could happily find himself in trouble if he continues to indulge without temperance.

Elijah lifts the lunch bag, a deflection and a ceasefire—for now. "Shall we sate yours?"

Susannah tucks her hands in her pockets, and the curl of her lip exposes the very points of her canines. "Yes, perhaps we should. I _am_ getting pretty hungry. It would be a terrible shame if you were to tease me for too long and I decided to sink my teeth into you, instead."

It's meant as a tease; an offhand threat from an irritated, lovely thing with her patience pushed too far.

It still sends a shock through Elijah's blood.

"So long as you didn't waste me," he replies. There is a pressure in his chest that he cannot dispel.

It's want. Terrible, terrible want.

She hums, aloof. Curls fall in front of her face in the aftermath, catching in the folds of her shirt. Her eyes are fixed ahead, off Elijah entirely.

And then she finds his gaze. It was cool and dark, distinctly free of the usual mess of untamed emotions and desires that tended to overwhelm Susannah when she made eye contact. There was something almost like detached curiosity in the darkness of his eyes, but Susannah looked away before she could latch onto anything concrete.

"You're completely merciless, aren't you?"

"Entirely so," he purred in response and Susannah felt the words as a touch running down her spine.

"You do know I can read your secrets like common knowledge right?"

Elijah leans forward. "If you feel that is necessary then so be it."

Susannah narrows her eyes, "I'm not a thing you can poke and prod at like some science experiment."

The morally superior look is gone and Elijah wonders if it was ever genuine in the first place, or an attempt to push his buttons to elicit a response. Susannah likes to tests things, many times even at her own risk.

"I know."

Elijah unzips the insulated carrier and sets two sealed Tupperware containers before each of them, utensils and napkins beside. He's come prepared. The stew is still warm and the orzo fragrant; watching Susannah absorb the mingled scents when she removes the lid is an exercise in restraint.

Elijah waits, watches with rapt fascination while Susannah takes the first cautious bite.

Her lashes flutter as she closes her eyes. She savors. Elijah immediately likes Susannah better for it, that she takes the time to roll the flavors over her clever tongue before she chews and swallows.

When her eyes open, she seeks out Elijah with a wry twist of her lips. She looks conciliatory and challenging in equal measures, and Elijah can tell she is biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling.

Elijah raises one brow in expectant relish; Susannah looks very much like she'd like to hit him for it.

And yet again, Susannah surprises him. She demurely crosses her ankles as she leans over, draws Elijah in with soft fingers along his jaw to offer a chaste, appreciative peck to his cheek. Then she goes back to eating like nothing at all has happened.

"It's delicious," Susannah says, and pointedly doesn't meet his eyes. "Thank you."

The food _has_ decided things. In this moment, without anyone of importance watching them, Elijah has earned Susannah's approval. It's gratifying. Complicated.

Elijah takes a slow, silent breath, and removes the lid of the kokkinisto. Underneath the table, he feels the smooth toe of a high heel brush against his calf. He turns his head to look at Susannah; in profile, her vibrant eyes are concealed by the wisps of her bangs, but her cheeks glow with warmth.

Elijah hides his smile and takes a bite. "My pleasure."

She shakes her head then. She laughs at him then, throws her head back and let's the sound echo towards the sky. Elijah gets the heady feeling again, pressing in the place of his heart.

* * *

Elena sits pressed tightly against Stefan, his hand rubbing comforting circles on her upper thigh. She can feel the bite of his touch threw her jeans and shifts when heat wells in her. Taking a deep breath she watches as Damon pours himself a drink, not bothering to offer any to either her or Stefan.

They sit in the parlor room of the boarding house, quiet and contemplating.

"I asked Bonnie to tell her to seduce him to get information so we would know more about the sacrifice, about Klaus...I just didn't expect-"

Damon's scoff cuts her off, "Please, Susannah, isn't loyal to anyone but Bonnie and herself. Did you honestly think she would do this out of the kindness of her heart?"

Stefan taps his foot, his brows furrowing.

"It's more than that." Stefan stands pacing. "Elena, you said you felt like Elijah knew Susannah before Rose and Trevor, Right?"

Elena nods her dark hair falling in front of her face.

"And Susannah has never been an open book to any of us, even Bonnie. So what if they do know each other or at the very least know of each other...and something also doesn't seem right why would Elijah be so interested in a human girl?"

Elena bites her lip and Stefan immediately sends her an apologetic glance.

"Unless she's a witch."

"Bonnie would have told me," Elena immediately says. Sure of that if nothing else.

"I've never known a true born Bennett to be powerless, besides, her blood is too rich to be human."

Elena's eyes widen. "You bit her!"

Snorting, Damon rolls his deep blue eyes. "I don't need to, unlike your bunny chasing boyfriend, my sense of smell is far superior- she smells good. Better than good."

"So what?"

"So, we have to find a way to get rid of both of them."

"Damon."

"Oh come on, Susannah and Elijah are threats. How long will Elijah hold onto his word? How long until Susannah helps him gift wrap you and mail you to Klaus? We find a way to neutralize the threats before they become a problem."

Elena and Stefan shared a look, seeming to speak a thousand words between their eyes.

Elena stands.

"You're right. I can't take any more risks."

* * *

It seems no sooner than Elijah arrives that Susannah is seeing him off.

As she wanders toward the parking lot tucked under Elijah's arm, she wonders what they look like to people who don't know them. Does the age difference make it seem sordid? Do they look happy together? How many people see heels and skirts, long hair and makeup, all of it at a distance and think that Susannah is Elijah's girlfriend, not his…

Well, she's not really Elijah's _anything._

Homemade food, casual touch, a sharp mind to spar with—Susannah languishes in Elijah's attention and walks the tightrope of her want. There's only so much she can give under the guise of their arrangement. Anything more feels… greedy.

Elijah wants to study her, Susannah reminds herself. Study her in exchange for a mask, connections, and confidential information. Their flirting is a means to an end, a reputation shared and built for the eyes all around them.

There's no need to touch Elijah in private. Of course, there isn't really any reason for Susannah to see Elijah in private.

The thought leaves her strangely lonely.

"You're thinking quite loudly," Elijah says as they cross from the sidewalk to the pavement. His arm is a strange and comfortable weight around her shoulders. She's not even sure how he came to be in the position, she only knows that it makes her heart race, but she feels settled. Safe. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Susannah bites back a growl and sharp retort about being psychoanalyzed. She exhaled through her nose. "I'm just irritated by Elena," she lies.

It's not _entirely_ a lie. But it's just enough of one.

Elijah hums in response. If he senses dishonesty, he doesn't indicate it. "Her interest will pass. For now, she sees me as a gateway to getting to Niklaus and you as someone not to be trusted. You needn't worry- the novelty is temporary, and her perception of our relations will grow boring."

"I'm not worried," Susannah replies. "I'm angry. You could be anyone and she'd still stick her nose into this. She just won't leave me alone."

Elijah's hand curls on Susannah's bicep. His fingers flex, and for a moment, it almost hurts.

"Do you believe she seeks to influence you?"

"She doesn't know how to take me." Susannah sighs in irritation. "She's used to people liking her, she's not used to indifference. Elena has never truly trusted me because of it and knowing Damon and his influence on her I wouldn't be surprised if they attempted something."

Elijah makes a noise of interest. "That seems excessive, Ms. Bonnie Bennett is her best friend, would she truly risk losing that?"

"Well, Elena won't be thinking like that," Susannah grumbles. "You still have time to back out of the bargain. It seems it isn't truly worth it."

The words sting, but Susannah knows she means them as soon as she says them. Perhaps it would be the kinder thing to do—for Susannah to struggle hiding herself alone without pulling Elijah into her world.

"I welcomed you into my life, if you'll recall," Elijah replies pointedly. "I don't have an unrealistic expectation of what that might entail."

"It's nearly impossible to expect the things that follow me around," Susannah replies darkly. "I just want to warn you ahead of time so you can't say I didn't try."

Elijah stops in the middle of the parking lot; she stumbles ahead, then turns back to face him. His expression is unreadable, up until the moment he steps forward and grasps Susannah by the shoulders.

"Whatever unpleasantries haunt your steps, you don't have to face them alone," Elijah says seriously. He surveys Susannah's face with singular, rapt imtensity.

"That's not your responsibility. Not part of the bargain."

Elijah's gaze intensifies. "Is it not?"

"No," Susannah says, and swallows hard. There's panic in her chest, and she takes a breath. She lets it out in a shudder. This is uncomfortable. She doesn't like it. She's being boxed in, and like a feral, nervous dog, she's feeling pressured to bite by the instincts rattling around her skull. "I'm an adult, I can handle myself."

"Everyone needs a support system, no matter their age. For the foreseeable future, I am yours and you are mine." There's such possession in those words that it feels like a collar, thick enough around her throat that Susannah feels every swallow like a tug on her chain. She wants to run, to plunge directly into the frigid stream behind her house and never emerge, so long as she drowns while untethered. They're not committed, Susannah is not _owned,_ so why does it feel like she is? "There's not much difference between pretending to be something and the reality of being something. If I'm to confide in you, Susannah, you may also confide in me."

Susannah's heart kicks up to double time, but she's sure she manages to conceal it well- other than the heat she can feel in her cheeks. "That's not what we agreed on, either."

Elijah's hands draw together, creeping steadily across her shoulders with enough pressure that Susannah wonders if she's about to be strangled. When Susannah glances up, he is stricken still and silent- the light catches Elijah's eyes, and they glow red like coals, like hellfire. He is beautiful, and for a second, he is truly terrifying.

Susannah cannot look away.

"I want to help you, you stubborn thing," Elijah growls. "If something threatens you, Susannah, it threatens me, too. We were seen together already. Like it or not, we are in this together. You think I will throw you to the vultures? Incriminate you to save myself?"

"It's what you would do if you were smart," Susannah murmurs. She tears her eyes away, and focuses on the embossed buttons of Elijah's coat. It's fine wool, dyed a rich navy blue. If it weren't for Susannah's hunter green coat interrupting the blue, they two would nearly match.

She likes that idea more than she should.

She's getting attached.

Fuck.

Elijah's hands reach either side of Susannah's throat. She closes her eyes. What would it be like if Elijah snapped her neck right now? Put Susannah out of her misery, her aching loneliness, her troubled mind, her gray morals?

No, she thinks as she feels a thumb stroke gently over her earlobe, the faux pearl earring. No. Elijah wouldn't do that to her.

Elijah cradles her jaw, and Susannah opens her eyes. "Then mark me a fool because I have no intention of turning you away. Our choices will determine whether we rise of fall, but fate has brought us together."

Susannah swallows. Elijah's pupils dilate at the feel of it.

"Then fate is a bitch," Susannah replies. "And a cheating whore." And despite being deliberately glib, Elijah looks truly amused. Honestly fond, and honestly annoyed when Susannah adds, "We're gonna get hit by a car if we don't move pretty soon, you know."

Susannah grins.

The tension breaks.

There is something vulnerable inside her that is peering through the cracks in her shell and likes what it sees, and it may very well be the person Susananh is when she first wakes up in the morning. The person she is before she puts on her armor, becomes someone who can keep up with Elijah. That person is the one who takes Elijah's hands away from her face, but kisses the backs of Elijah's knuckles before she pulls him along.

"It has been quite a while since I've been in a romantic relationship," Elijah throws out carefully. Like a ball in an owners hand, hoping their pet jumps along after it and brings it right back.

Her eyebrows lift, what is he trying to say? What is he trying to get Susannah to say?

Susannah nodded. "That makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yes," Susannah was in no hurry to elaborate, but Elijah was watching her expectantly, so in the end she just sighed and relented. "Most people love in a soft way. They want warmth and comfort and something natural, they might even believe it to be selfless- but I doubt a love like that could survive you...I think if you were to love and have it last...it would need to be like a battlefield. With blood and pain and every inch gained never returned. I think you might even approach it with a plan, a strategy. I think that when you love, it's a dagger to the heart. It burns. It's all consuming. You don't let yourself feel it often," She twists her fingers together. "I know I wouldn't."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Hard to find someone worthy of the dagger," she muttered with a strained attempt at a smile following.

"What else can you see?"

A part of her wants to snap, to tell him she didn't want to be a mere curiosity to him. To tell him she was more than her abilities.

Her voice, with a mind of it's own, has taken over. "You have lovers occasionally," Susannah said, her voice dreamlike and distant. "But not for very long. They're affairs, not courtships. You find them entertaining, the newness they bring into your life, but after a time you get bored, and the you elegantly extract yourself, careful to not entertain the wrong impression about the relationship."

Elijah gives her a long look, near breathless. It was simultaneously invigorating and terrifying. "I thoroughly enjoy listening to the way you speak, the way you phrase things."

It startled a laugh out of her.

"Thanks, I guess," her head ducking on it's own accord. Heat flares across her cheeks and crawls up to the tips of her ears.

Susannah shifted and touched their palms together. She lingered there before her fingers moved over to ghost over the ancient vampire's wrist, thumb rubbing the soft skin on the inside of it. Elijah caught her hand and brought it to his cheek, scenting the inside of her wrist in one fluid motion, gazing at her warmly. It was a perfect display.

"I thought I would have to learn every inch of you," Elijah says, voice quiet. "But I underestimated your ability to improvise. I have no doubt you will react beautifully to any challenge before us."

A rare moment of complete transparency. Susannah wasn't sure if the slowly roiling coil in her stomach was because she was sick or because Elijah's voice was like silken, liquid poetry that ignited her insides like wildfire.

"Played the part of a seductress well, did I?" Susannah laughed around the words. The only thing she knew of seduction was from plays and novels. And even so, she doubted Elijah would actually allow himself to be taken with it.

"Yes, you truly have- I had meant to ask you," Elijah segues, "there's an upcoming benefit gala for the Symphonic Orchestra in a few weeks. I was hoping you might accompany me- as my guest, of course."

Susannah raises a brow. "Is that you asking or telling?"

Elijah's lips thin with momentary irritation, and against her better judgement, Susannah feels a flicker of satisfaction. Then his face smooths over; after a second of silence, he almost looks amused. "Where are my manners? Yes, Susannah- would you do me the honor of attending as my plus-one?"

Susannah hums in approval. "Much better. Although I'm not sure you should be asking me."

"And why is that?"

"There are people there. People having emotions, and drawing on the occasion as an excuse to indulge in their emotions, and oh yes, other people who gossip and want shallow conversation, with their emotions and on the generalized subject of emotion."

All the small talk about everyone under false identities with real emotions, and false jobs, and false stories, never forgetting to always brag about their marital status. It is exhausting.

He chuckles at this. She supplies him with endless amusement, which is precisely why he wants her there.

"Would it truly be so horrible?"

"Yes," she deadpans. With a fizzle of warmth and anxiety muddling together in her belly, she sighs quite obnoxiously. "However...yes, Mikaelson, I will go with you. Besides I need to stay close to you according to the terms of the bargain and I can't see a gala like that held in Mystic Falls."

Elijah seems to dislike that answer; a strange and curious smile plays about his mouth. "Indeed."

"It's decided, then," Elijah says. He makes a sound of recognition, and there's a flash of keys in his free hand. "Ah, here we are."

Susannah stares at the sleek black vehicle, its immaculate chrome grill, the classically square silhouette. Even in the height of road salt season, it's perfectly detailed. Her lips part in awed apprehension. "I'm hesitant to admit that I don't know what kind of car this is."

"That's not terribly surprising, since it's not an American-made vehicle. It's is a Bentley Arnage. European." Elijah unlocks the car and reaches in to put the lunch bag into the passenger side footwell.

"No expense spared, huh?"

Elijah stands, arms crossed casually on the roof of the car. He watches every move Susannah makes, and Susannah has the distinct feeling of being hunted. It's both intimidating and exhilarating. "I prefer to think of it as an investment. Few things are still made like the classics."

"Yeah, I guess so." Her technical side is intrigued. Of course, she would never dare lay hands on such an intricate system that's worth more than, in Bonnie's words, her entire mortal soul.

She lays her good hand respectfully on the Bentley's hood, much in the manner that one would pat a prized racehorse. She imagines that she can sense the power beneath the steel, combustion fueled by gasoline and human will. Motors are truly one of humankind's most ingenious inventions. She strokes her fingertips lightly over the glossy paint. "I should get going, too. I have some errands to run before I can go home."

Not precisely a lie. Half-truths seem to be the best way to escape Elijah's sharp-eyed scrutiny.

There is a slight furrow between Elijah's brows. "If I knew you planned to go, I would have walked you to _your_ car, not the other way around."

Susannah smiles. Offending his genteel sensibilities could become a dangerous pastime. "Don't worry, I think I'll survive the walk in broad daylight."

He frowns at her. "It's the principle of the thing. It's only polite."

"I think a little impropriety is good for the soul every now and again, don't you?"

"Perhaps." Elijah looks slightly mollified.

"I'll see you soon okay?"

"Yes, that'll do nicely."

Susannah pauses. Denying Elijah is all in good fun, but denying Elijah is denying _herself,_ too. She realizes all at once that she wouldn't mind a goodbye kiss—but perhaps that's even more reason not to let herself have it.

Games of propriety are truly exhausting.

"Drive safely," she says, and hopes a softer smile conveys her genuine feeling. "I'll be out until late, probably. You know, if you feel like calling."

Elijah's expression relaxes. It's not relief, per se—but Susannah is filled with a certain clarity in regards to his clenched jaw not a minute ago. Of course he won't ask for what he wants. It's simply take first, unless it's outside the range of what seems well-mannered and polite.

"Of course, Sweet Susannah." Elijah stares at her intently over the roof of the car. He doesn't blink. "Enjoy your afternoon."

Susannah nods, lifts her hand in farewell, and retreats.

* * *

Hours later, in a bar across town, Susannah drops into her seat in a graceless slump. She meets sharp blue eyes; she watches her like a hawk. The weight of her gaze is familiar, and in its own way, comforting. She knows exactly what to expect from her, and what to expect from their time together.

Susannah reaches across the table, and they clink glasses.

"So," she says, and her red lips spread into a sly grin, "tell me about this original of yours."

Susannah groans softly and tips her head back against the booth. Her curls tumble in a wave down her back, fuzzy from a long day of exertion and work. She is her echo, her foil—perfectly posed and sleek, a flawless woman off the cover of a magazine. She is Susannah's teacher, her support system, and most importantly, her closest and most trusted friend.

"Kenia," Susannah sighs emphatically, "I don't even know where to begin."


	8. Chapter 8

"I've met someone."

"A new friend?"

"Isn't that usually what people mean when they say they've met someone?"

"Other people, yes. For you, I felt like clarification might be in order."

Susannah laughed at that low and sour. Hurt without really understanding why.

"You don't let people get close," Kenia said softly, sensing her discomfort, her tone gently scolding.

"I've told you before, I shouldn't inflict myself on others." Shaking her head, running her finger over the condensation of her glass. "Besides, friendship becomes confusing for me. I tend to hold onto everyone's feelings ...Eljjah- he, generally keeps them to himself."

"What is this _original_ like?" Kenia asked, twirling her hair as she glittered under the light, decadent and lovely.

"Cultured. Fond of conversation. Not much like me." She wanted to mention how he thrived under the eyes of others. How he hid himself in expensive suits and kind smiles. How he was the perfect predator.

"So you are fucking," she says bluntly. The heel of her shoe tapping against the ground. "What's that like?"

"We are not!" Susannah said, her voice went embarrassingly high and she immediately tucked her chin into her chest. "You literally heard everything I just said."

Kenia waves her hand like that's irrelevant.

"Now or later, what I am hearing is you're into him." Her eyes glimmer with happiness. "And he is into you."

"He is not, Kenia, please."

"Your _sugar daddy_ is probably ruined for anyone else."

Susannah chokes.

" _Kenia._ "

"What?" She says with a vivacious wink. "Look at you, marrying into money and good taste. Proud of you."

" **Marrying** -" Susannah practically chugs down her drink and exhales hard through her nose.

She shakes her head like Susannah is some naïve little girl, like she wasn't once a queen. Susannah remembers those days. The hardest thing about them being the sheer expectation people had of her. Not to mention the quality of said expectations. The expectations were high. Very high. Higher than Susannah can signal with her arm above her head, pointing at a random piece of air which she had to jump to reach. Higher than even that.

Kenia had been there. She knows almost _everything_.

"You are teasing with him. Why?"

Susannah shrugged. "I am adapting to my surroundings is all."

"You are adapting to him," Kenia's eyes were shrewd on her face. "I know you, my friend. You are very much a chameleon that way, but why so fierce?"

She gave her a half smile. "If you were in a lion's den, would you fare better as a lion or a lamb?"

Kenia chuckled. "I would say you and the original are evenly matched."

She picks up her glass and lets it rest in her mouth before she swallows it. Susannah never really liked the taste of alcohol, but oftentimes she needed it to take the edge off, and eventually she knew she would have to confront her borderline alcoholism, but now is definitely not the time.

"I don't know about that," Susannah admits honestly. She thinks about the way he touched her earlier, so freely, so removed. She had done the same, it had been easy to do the same then. It was all just apart of a game, and in games touches meant nothing.

"You found a man who wants to cook for you, satisfy the terms of a bargain you created, introduce you to the right people. And all he wants in return is to talk." She speaks slowly, patiently, like Susannah is either very very stupid or just childish. "He's a goner. He may as well asked to tie your souls together."

Susannah nearly passes out right there. Her jaw parting in stunned horror.

"It means he likes you," Kenia replies kindly. In her heart, Kenia is a terribly sweet woman, made ruthless by her raising. She rarely shows the crueler side of herself to Susannah—she tries to make it so she doesn't ever need to.

But in this moment, she would prefer honesty to kindness. "Or he wants something from me."

Kenia leans back; her back hits the booth with a huff. "He can want something from you and still like you."

"I didn't ask for this."

Kenia nods. "That's _okay,_ though, Susannah. If you like him, let him take care of you. Let him do this, because obviously it makes him happy. But if it makes _you_ unhappy…" She sighs, and purses her faded red lips. She opens her mouth—

"It doesn't," Susannah interrupts softly. Her palms flatten on the tabletop, feeling the smooth formica slide against her skin. "I'm not unhappy. I'm just… unbalanced."

Kenia softens; she reaches for her hand and comfortingly wraps her fingers around Susannah's. "You're not supposed to be balanced. It's called _falling_ for a reason."

Susannah snorts, but obligingly turns her hand in hers. "I'm not falling," she replies. "Barely stumbling."

"You're flat on your ass," Kenia retorts. She smiles. "Even if you don't know it yet."

"If I don't know it, it definitely doesn't count." Susannah feels inexplicably tired and a pounding in her temples. Rubbing her head as if she could convince the headache to go away. "And besides it's not happening."

Kenia shook her head then. Her hand coming to rest under her chin barely. As she blew bubbles into her drink through her straw. "You used to say that about a lot of things."

"When are you going to realize," Susannah smiled acidly, "that I am a really good liar."

Kenia's face freezes, jaw clenched, until she is able to discern that it is a joke. She laughs then. The sound is boisterous and loud and some people even turn to look at her. Then as quickly as it arrived the smile and laugh are gone and apprehension fills her face, her every pore. Susannah can feel the knot in Kenia's stomach as if it came from Susannah herself.

"What is it?"

"This isn't about Kion...is it?" Her voice so sticky with sympathy that Susannah can almost see the words in the air above her, dripping syrupy letters.

And Susannah feels cleaved open, the way she imagines the people she reads feel.

Susannah flinches and feels herself visibly pale. It was a hard thought to hold after all. For a long time, trapped within the coffin, awake but not awake, sleeping but not sleeping, thoughts of Kion had sustained her. Sustained her until she was forced to sustain herself.

"Kenia."

Kenia's hand tightened at her voice. Fear lacerating the air, but she wouldn't stop. No, Kenia would push. Because that's who she was. Kenia was like a pitbull who wouldn't let go of something once she dug her teeth in.

"He was your-"

The pain of him dying, over and over and over again. And with Kion came _them_. She had nearly forgotten the way they had felt on her throat, between her legs, the way Kion had reminded her of _them_ when he curled around her, trying to calm her. She could still smell them burning. She hoped they would burn forever.

He said he understood. That he could wait, however long it took, and yet he didn't understand at all.

It was like a slap.

How she clung to the sound of his breath as he lay dying.

"We agreed," Susannah said slowly, "That we would not speak of him."

"Yes, but that was before-"

"So, I will continue to not discuss it. It is of no consequence to my current position." Her voice was firm and she sounded so much like the queen she once was, even with the scar on the back of her neck throbbing. Susannah had spent years compartmentalizing her past as best she could, keeping them separate from her daily relationships with people in modern times, but now was an instance where she could feel it bleeding over, despite that resolution.

Kenia sat back in her chair, and unless Susannah was mistaken, there was a flash of approval in her eyes.

She reaches for Susannah's hand again, silently asking for forgiveness. There had been a time where Susannah couldn't stand touch, even if it was trying to be comforting, when the sound of breath made her skin crawl. She made herself smile and accept her hand.

Kenia didn't say anything. She could see a thought bubbling behind her eyes. She couldn't not. She couldn't look away from them, so open and clear, right there. But she didn't say a word.

And that annoyed her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Kenia replied.

"I can see there's something."

"It doesn't matter. It was years ago."

"And yet it's here right now. Tell me, Kenia."

"I just," Kenia said slowly, then she closed her mouth as if trying to catch those words back into it, but, aware that she was unable to do that, she pushed on, "I worry about you."

Susannah felt her eyebrows rise even higher up her forehead. "I'm fine."

Kenia tilts her head, unbelieving as she waves over a bar tender to order more drinks. "I should've known. No matter when I ask you will always be fine."

* * *

Elijah does not often find himself without control of his own thoughts, but once he's fed and rested, one thought circles his mind.

He feels alone.

Elijah has never minded being alone before now. In many cases, he's often preferred it. He can take whatever time he likes doing what he pleases if he so desires. He can curate each room of his surrounding space to its most aesthetically pleasing point, create perfectly-placed arrangements of priceless belongings.

He's never once felt like he's living within a museum until recently.

The empty spaces on the walls beg not for more artwork, but for a more personal touch. The austere furniture that is rarely used suddenly seems uninviting; Elijah considers, if only for a moment, replacing his shapely statement pieces with vast and comfortable installations. By the time he finds himself at a desk, Elijah realizes the source of his unease is not a _what_ as much as a _who._

He's never been one to ascribe the feeling of loneliness to himself prior to Susannah's unexpected arrival in his life. Now it seems he can think of nothing but.

Companionship. It's a strange notion.

Elijah glances down at the desktop, at the screen of his phone reflecting the light of his lamp. He hesitates for only a moment, and then lifts it into his hand—it illuminates and displays the time, _10:38pm._

Susannah said she would be out late, but surely she's on her way home by now, if not there already. She seemed to welcome the notion of Elijah reaching out. And, Elijah supposes, he should probably confirm what time they will be meeting tomorrow. Yes, he has every reason to call Susannah. Perhaps after they speak, Elijah will be able to put these thoughts from his mind and focus once more.

He presses _dial_ and holds the phone to his ear. It rings one, two, three, four—

 _"Hello, Elijah,"_ Susannah says sweetly, and Elijah's brain stutters to a halt. _"Give me just a minute, okay?"_

It picks up again in short accord, and he takes in the background noise: loud music, a man's voice, the screech of a door hinge and the subsequent sounds of the outside.

"You're not alone," Elijah replies, and swallows down the strangely bitter taste at the back of his tongue. "My apologies. I'll let you go."

 _"No, no. I was literally just walking my friend to her car. Hang on—"_ A muffled sound, and Susannah must of covered the mouthpiece of her cell, but Elijah still hears it when she says, _"Thank you for meeting me again. I'll be in touch."_

 _"Is that your original? Tell him I said hi!"_ A new voice says, he can hear the laughter in the voice as Susannah mutters out a curse towards whoever it is.

"Do I have a reputation among your peers, I'm not sure if I should be intimidated or flattered."

 _"Neither,"_ Susannah replied quickly.

Elijah does not hear anything from the other person. He leans back in his chair slowly as he listens to Susannah say a quick goodbye. He's immensely more aware of his teeth than he was a moment before. His hand falls into his lap; his fingers curl, and there's the faintest sting of pain before Elijah realizes his nails have sunken into the meat of his outer thigh. He forces himself to relax. He is smoothing over the wrinkles he has wrought in his slacks when Susannah's voice returns. She sounds much more relaxed, unlike herself. _"Yeah, sorry about that, an old friend of mine."_

Elijah pushes away from the desk. He stands.

"Of course," he replies smoothly, and paces as he imagines Susannah pacing. Elijah, too, is on the move—restless.

 _"Don't worry,"_ Susnanah says, _"it wasn't half as good as lunch."_

Placation. Elijah wonders if Susannah can sense his unease, or if it's simple flattery. At the very least, the sentiment sounds genuine. He swallows down his irritation and schools his voice into something smooth and light. "I'm pleased you enjoyed it."

 _"I'm glad you called-"_ Susannah cuts herself off, and he can practically taste the hesitance in her voice. _"Can I ask you to do something for me?"_

Elijah straightens abruptly at that. Susannah is asking something of him? The girl who simply doesn't trust him? "Yes, of course sweet Susannah."

 _"Can you pick me up?"_

Elijah is already gathering his coat and is out the door in record time.

* * *

When Elijah arrives he does nothing to alert Susannah of his presence, instead choosing to slink into a truly deplorable booth and simply observe her.

She strolls through the smoky, dilapidated bar with her head held high, looking every bit the rebellious princess escaping from her castle. He knows of course, Susannah Bennett is no princess.

"You lost, doll?" A man bellows across the bar directed towards Susannah, and she looks at him, more like pins him down with those sleepy golden eyes and a small vicious smile spreads across her lips, sinful and enticing.

"Maybe. Care to show me the way?" She asks, her voice softer than what you would expect, a hint of a foreign accent, with a customary half-smirk, more internal than outward. The men whoop and whistles at her, and she takes it all in stride, meeting their eyes, not once looking down or away or blushing, as if she owned the place and them along with it.

The man trips, stumbling in his steps as if Susannah's voice had suddenly made him more drunk than he was- deep and sun warmed. Her eyes a warning as much as an invitation.

He crept up behind her, standing very close to her while she slid into a stool. He just wanted to stand close to her, touch her hair, and see if he could look down her rather revealing shirt. Elijah could see the beginnings of loathing on her face as he bent over her, and then, as if to steady himself, put his hand on her thigh.

And as soon as he touched her she knew. The revulsion that dipped into her skin, nearly made her want to curl into a ball. _If she denied him he intended to..._

She pretended to startle, and in one bare moment, cut his arm with a razor edged pocket knife.

He looked down at his arm as if astonished at the thread of blood that quickly appeared.

Elijah watched the way the dim light reflected off her eyes, glimmering in a way a lion's does, the way she blinked slowly. He couldn't quite tell what she was thinking, but she looked rather predatory.

"Oh, my apologies!" She tells him, playing coy, twirling her hair between her dainty fingers, the perfect picture of aloofness. "I am so sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you alright?" But the look she gave him with her deadly eyes showed she could have just as easily slit his throat. Elijah notices the way her eyes dart past the man, making sure he's alone and she hasn't gotten herself into trouble she can't get out of.

Surely she must know that while this unknown man may not have any friends here, many of these people would do nothing if something were to occur. She's the hypothetical mouse walking into the cat's den.

"No problem, just a little accident." He picked up a napkin and immediately pressed it into his gash. "Just an accident," he repeated as if trying to convince himself.

The man was either ignorant or drunk, probably both, Elijah quickly decided because he sat next to Susannah, moving his stool rather close. A part of Elijah was ready to dig his hand into the man's chest and gift it to Susannah, but he restrained himself.

"By the way, I'm Max," he paused leering at Susannah in a way that made Elijah sick and his fangs dig into his bottom lip. His introduction is met with calculating eyes, she's not foolish. She's also not cautious.

"Tonight you can call me Mary." Taking a hardy gulp of her drink she smiled at Max, "What is it that you do, Max?"

"I'm studying at Yale to be an attorney but I am projected to graduate in two years, I got plenty of time though, I'm twenty- two after all."

"Yale?" Susannah, sorry Mary, didn't seem impressed. "Rather far from there."

"Just visiting some family for the weekend," He replied, perfectly normal, but said in a tone that sounded positively indecent. He brought his hand to comb through his hair and Elijah watched Susannah's eyes lose some of it's previous clarity at the sight of his tattoos. She sizes Max up differently, not with malice, but something akin to… admiration? Attraction? No. She sees something. Something Elijah can't.

"Just an observation. What's the eleventh amendment?"

"What?" Max looks caught out.

"I asked you what the eleventh amendment is. You said you're twenty-two. If you are taking the J.D law at Yale then that's three years, you should be well into it by now."

"Wow and here I thought I was on holiday," Max says, his smile no longer reaching his eyes. "but now comes a pop quiz."

"Okay, what about redressability?" Susannah said unable to hide the condescension in her voice. Max bristled visibly. "No? The collateral bar rule? Wow. Nothing huh?"

"You know that's rich coming from a little whore from the middle of nowhere."

Elijah tightens his grip around the table. Do not intervene. She can handle this. He breathes out a growl. And is privately fascinated at the way his protectiveness became blended with a surge of possessiveness at the very idea of anyone trying to impose on Susannah (except for himself, obviously) that's almost breathtaking in its intensity.

"Oh, so the claws do come out, you should know though, calling me a whore doesn't make you more of a man," Susannah smiled, shark like. "Am I hitting a nerve? You shouldn't be offended. I'm only a whore after all."

"You like to play games then," Max smirked. "I can deal with that."

"They aren't the kind of games you can enjoy."

"I think I can read you pretty well. You think you're smart so you like to try and belittle those around you."

She laughed at that. "If that's the case then let me show you what I can see," Susannah paused measuring him with her eyes. "You are a terrible candidate for an attorney, most likely your rich parents bought you the spot."

"What did you just say?" He breathed out, as if the man had never had a brazen insult levelled at him in his life.

"Or maybe you're coasting on good looks. I wouldn't hold out for more on that front. Let me guess, the girls let you buy them a drink but it never goes further than that. Your lecturers tolerate you, but you are never selected for placements, projects, you get passed over for questions. And there's a niggling sense of doubt in you, somewhere deep down, worries that you might never succeed at what your father did before you, and your grandfather before him. Maybe even your mother?" Max flinched, "Ah, yes, a family of barristers and their disappointing child."

Susannah could remember seeing two men argue when she was young. Unable to hear their words she had made do by simply watching. The look of unmitigated rage in their eyes had frightened her then. The violence and the hate too near, like she could wear it on her skin. Now, she was no longer scared when that same violent hatred seeped into Max's eyes, Susannah has simply returned it with casual indifference.

"Which is why you're here, right? To make your mark. Get through with a reasonable degree you certainly don't deserve and find yourself a pretty enough girl to make into a trophy. I'd make a beautiful trophy, wouldn't I?"

"Pathetic," Max said with a tightness to his voice to rival a piano wire. Other patrons of the bar finally taking into account whatever it was that was occurring between Max and _Mary_. "Too clever for your own damn class. Don't know your place."

"I don't have a 'place' I am simply above you all," she tells him in that voice of hers.

"You fucking bitch," Max said loudly, furiously. The smell of his blood intensified. "Breaking you is going to be so sweet."

"Right," Susannah smiled, looking downwards, "except I am pretty sure," she took Max by surprise when she peered obviously at his erection. "that you don't have the right equipment."

Elijah, who up until now has been observing the exchange in amused silence- abruptly uncurls from his spot and draws himself to full height. The motion is extremely calm and controlled without a hint of aggression, but even so there's something sufficiently imposing about the way he draws forward and looms over them both that makes the entire bar draw silent.

The second Max raised his arm, Elijah was there catching his hand and shattering the bones within that hand he wrongly decided to raise.

An electrified pause follows as the air crackles and sparks with tension. It seems as if all movement has been grounded to a halt, an odd sensation, like a pause button being pressed on a video.

Then suddenly everything speeds up again and snaps back to life and Susannah watches with numb disbelief as Max lets out a howl of pain, while Elijah is tucking Susannah against him.

Max let out a pathetic whimper at the pain and nearly sobbed when Elijah dropped him to the floor.

"It is quite rude to raise your hand against the fairer sex, perhaps, you should apologize." Elijah's voice is deceptively light. A hidden razor edge lurks just below the surface.

"It's okay, Elijah." Susannah said, a bitter smile pressing her lips.

"You-" The man snapped red in the face as he stood, moving aggressively towards her as if Elijah wasn't even there.

"You've been very fortunate in your choice of witnesses," says Elijah flickering his eyes to the other patrons and even Susannah herself. "And because of that I'm going to extend to you something I almost never do: a warning."

Max glances down at his hand, biting his lip in an obvious attempt to not betray the pain he is in, and Elijah takes another step closer and adds in that same unnerving voice: " _I strongly suggest you don't attempt that a second time."_

By now Elijah's tone had taken on a level of such low-pitched menace that it manages to be even more sinister and when Susannah glances at his face- she can't suppress a shudder of foreboding because the expression is nothing short of chilling. He doesn't need to raise his voice of make elaborate gestures- the kind demonstrative people might need, nevertheless Max dips his head in an unconscious display of submission.

"Okay," Max says in a quieter voice. "Okay. I get it." His eyes dart to Susannah the look even more malicious. "There's obviously been a misunderstanding, but it wasn't by my doing. She did this for attention...you know how it is."

"I have not know _Ms. Mary_ long, but I know that she would not cater to a man like you."

It was a simple statement.

And Susannah felt a raw rush of affection almost tip her sideways.

"You evil-"

"Do not address her. You will speak to me and me alone."

His words flowing with their same smooth evenness.

Max flinches and steps back.

And hell, Susannah's never really acknowledged the gravity in Elijah's voice, with the whole original power behind it. He's an ancient vampire, and it's easy to forget that sometimes with all his prince charming like attributes, but now he is large and unforgiving.

"I-" Max began, but Elijah raised his hand in obvious dismissiveness.

"I believe this conversation is over."

Max wobbled slightly in step and rushed outside, perhaps because this bar was rather-grimy- no other patron deemed it imperative to go check on the boy and instead returned to their conversations.

* * *

There is another pause, a lull. Now it is only Susannah and Elijah.

"You- you are rather terrifying," She murmured. It comes out more admiring than she intended. Nevertheless, she's belatedly aware that her initial, unconscious instinct was to look to Elijah for protection. And the knowledge of that is rather uncomfortable and irritating, seeing as she takes great pride in her independence and capacity to take care of herself. She taps her foot against the side of the bar stool to the beat of the southern toon playing in the background, the air reeks of cigarettes and she fights off a vicious smile at being the one to lure the original into such a place he would clearly believe as beneath him.

Elijah smiles slightly. His face, illuminated in the gaslight, looks somewhat unworldly. All planes and sharp angles. "Are you terrified?"

"No," Susannah whispered as she runs her eyes over his face."You should be careful, Mr. Mikaelson, _your inner predator is showing_."

"I'm sure I could give you a far more impressive demonstration."

"I'm sure you could and if you push hard enough you might even see mine."

Her words don't have the desired effect, his eyes glowed with delight and excitement. She waves down the bar tender and orders another drink. Glancing at the four empty glasses in front of her, Elijah can only guess she had been indulging rather freely.

"What is troubling you?"

She makes a non-committal humming noise, offering no other answer.

"Are you ready to leave?" Elijah tries, his face neutral as ever; he reacts more finely, more deliberately than anyone else she knows. He has such a slow motion aura about him, like a hunter trying not to startle the deer.

Almost as if he selects his reactions on purpose.

"Why? Don't think I can take care of myself?" She presses, wanting him to snap back so she's justified for showing her bite as much as she is.

"I think you can but often don't," Elijah corrected. His tone somewhere illustrious, between sincere and comically feigned. "And this place is abominable, sweet Susannah, I know you have better taste, so I can only imagine you're punishing me."

"Suggesting that everything I do ties back to you?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," replies Elijah smiling, almost showing his teeth, enough to cause a shiver down Susannah's spine. "Merely playing with ideas. Only the proposition disturbs you, doesn't it?"

Susannah shrugs and then knots her fingers a little tighter together. An unwanted blush crawling up to her cheeks, biting her tongue. "I'm not disturbed."

"But you are," Elijah says in a tone that almost eerily soothing and rhythmic. "Are you concerned we're getting too close to the truth? Becoming too _intimate_?"

It felt like he was implying something with his words.

"No."

"I can't say I blame you," continues Elijah, as if Susannah hasn't even spoken. "Any kind of intimacy changes perception and can threaten self-control. Yet therein lies the paradox, because while we want to remain in control of ourselves and be the arbiter of every thought and sensation we also yearn to give ourselves up to the rapture of losing control."

" _Profound_."

Susannah rests her head on her hand, causing the front of her shirt to open wider. And an eerie feeling, the one a person gets when they witness something truly beautiful wells up in him; that strange and sad feeling, that doomy vertigo. The bar tender stopped by and placed another drink in front of her. She should go, but this feeling of...not thinking...it's something she wants to continue experiencing. Just for a little bit longer.

 _Shouldn't it bother her how easily he broke that boy's hand?_

But that's not what she is paying attention to. Her eyes are fixed on his hair. His immaculate hair that she wants to touch. And mess up.

"You have such pretty hair," Susannah whispered out in absolute awe. "But it's too perfect."

"And you, sweetness, are rather adorably vicious when intoxicated."

It is awfully shiny hair, Susannah thinks. She likes shiny things, especially when she's drunk. Things sparkle a little more too. Words and lines sliding together, and she can't help but feel like a toddler on a swing set.

"You should-" Susannah raises her hands until they are hovering over her own head. She tangles her fingers into her hair and makes an abrupt shaking motion "- make it slightly messier. Like this." Susannah tilts her head to the side, eyeing him critically. "You would look nice with your hair falling over your forehead. Like...like this..." She leans forward hesitantly, fingertips gently brushing his hair onto his forehead. Her touch leaving a fire on his skin.

"Anything else you see that I should fix about my appearance?"

"Undo the vest," Susannah immediately orders, lifting the new glass of whiskey to her lips for a tentative sip. She laughs brightly at Elijah's raised eyebrow.

Elijah sighs in mock annoyance, but complies with Susannah's request.

"That's nice," Susannah breathes, her pupils dilated. Through the thick smell of alcohol on her skin, Elijah can smell the beginnings of arousal. _Interesting_. "Now roll up your sleeves and sit next to me."

"Why must I roll up my sleeves?"

"Because I like that," Susannah replies, grinning in sheer delight, and Elijah unwilling to let that expression leave her face did as she commanded.

Elijah steals her drink and examines it under the dim light, turning it so the whiskey shifts along the glass, he brings the drink briefly to his nose scenting it before taking a hearty drink. Purposely placing his mouth where her lips had been.

"This is terrible whiskey," Elijah replies calmly. Brown eyes meet gold over the rim of the glass, an invisible tug of war going on in between them, someone could very well be attempting to set fire to the place and neither would bother noticing. He is always so immaculately calm, and Susannah quickly realizes just how eager she is to make him express something. Feel fucking something. Susannah is always being pulled apart at her seams and is constantly teetering over the edge of insanity, and Elijah's eyes just watch over with such fucking serenity that it's enough to make Susannah want to crawl out of her skin.

"No it isn't," Susannah tells him, and snatches the glass away from Elijah to drain for herself. "I don't drink bad whiskey. You're just a snob."

"I have refined expectations."

This makes Susannah smile again so Elijah administers another slow smile of his own and leans a little further back in his seat to acquire a better view whilst wondering how anyone can possibly contrive to be so bright eyed and lively and so very, very charming.

"In other words you are the embodiment of pretentiousness? Besides you practically licked my glass a minute ago so it can't be that bad."

"Not for the whiskey. I wanted to taste what you were tasting."

And there he goes. That strange, blunt honesty Susannah barely knows how to process. Before she can stop the words they were out, "what I was tasting, or what I taste like?"

Silence.

There is a new look on his face...it's different to the emptiness from before. Sort of warmer. Almost friendly. Like a tiger might give it's keeper before dinner time. It's alluring but also wants to make her back away. Fast.

"You're remarkably coherent for someone who probably has purged herself on alcohol. I admire your tolerance."

"My tolerance for you is being tested right about now."

"That must be exhausting," Elijah said watching her rather intently and Susannah shot him a rather sour look. "However, I did come only because you asked me to."

"What else would you be doing, oh dutiful and mighty original? Defending the realm of Mystic Falls for Elena Gilbert from the threat of your menacing little brother?" She drawls her words out slowly unable to keep down her sarcasm. Besides if Elijah Mikaelson is going to insist on getting an all access pass to her freak show he can learn to deal with some sass.

He chuckles then. And something almost warm blooms in her chest.

"By the way, alcohol affects my motor abilities and speech pattern, sometimes my actions, but rarely my thoughts and my mind. It stops the voices though. At least for a little while."

"Is that the reason behind your drinking then?"

Susannah scoffed at his question. Because of course he would ask.

"I was born frightened. I grew up frightened. Drinking takes fear away. But it can also take everything else away." She took another sip. "I can't imagine my life without that reprieve."

It should have been a sad, desperate thing to hear, but it wasn't.

"Acts of imagination can frighten us just as surely as actual ones. Disgust us, even." Elijah tapped the wood of the bar, feeling it's craftsmanship in it's easy glide. "Do you find that other imaginings frighten you, Susannah?"

Susannah almost sighed at the look of dark curiosity in him. Of course Elijah Mikaelson shows nothing but that. His endless curiosity about her minds inner workings. She assumed the other people would feel treasured at being the center of someone's curiosity, she just found it annoying.

"We're not doing this."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Cleary," Elijah replied amused at her bitterness. Always amused or curious. "That doesn't change the fact I want to hear about it."

"You can't just drop it, can you? Don't you have any boundaries?"

"Boundaries?" Elijah repeated politely, in the sort of tone that basically implied ' _Boundaries you say?- How very quaint-of course not._

"Yeah, boundaries," Susannah bit out. The words sharp enough she's almost surprised glass didn't spew out of her mouth along with them. "Tell me how many languages you speak? How is it that you've never learned to say 'I should mind my own business' in any of them?"

He smiled, a complicated smile, complex with an intimate meaning that Susannah simply did not have the patience to interpret. It was so easy to pretend, she almost wished they could go back to that. That easy and strange blend of easy silences and light banter. But no...Elijah wanted to dissect her.

"I don't want you inside my head."

Elijah appraised her intently, with the patience of a python: "More than I already am?"

Susannah looked at him flatly. "You don't cross my thoughts nearly as much as you assume you do."

"My presence in your mind has to provide you with something, or else you never would agreed to play this game with me." He allowed pieces of information to sate him; he resisted that peculiar urge to smile again.

She shook her head a little. The Elijah Mikaelson in Susannah's mind was not intrusive, or aggravating. He was the ice in a drink. He was the hit of liquor.

"Occasional tolerance is what you provide."

"You believe, sweet Susannah, you are something simply to be tolerated?"

"It depends on how you see me."

"How would you like to be seen?"

A hint of discomfort tugged at her. Why did he have to be practically a contortionist when it came to twisting around words? Truly what could she expect, he had a thousand years to learn how to talk to people to get exactly what he wanted from them. But this topic, interesting as it is, is also dangerous.

"Will you answer everything I say with a question? Because that will get old...fast."

Elijah smiles looking decidedly unimpressed but altogether unsurprised. Elijah hated passive aggressiveness, especially from other people. "Passive aggression will not divert this conversation, sweetness."

"How about open aggression?"

"You are stalling." He watches her twist her hair, her small fingers daintily tugging at the coils. Elijah knew Susannah would recoil if he dared to try and touch her now though his fingers begged for it. There was no one of importance here to see them, no reason to touch her.

"What's there to stall?" Elijah tried to not be too amused by her ways. "Have I done something to merit your interest in my meager affairs?"

"Careful, darling, I may erroneously assume you are flirting with me."

Susannah choked on her drink. And Elijah grinned. She knew that he didn't often emote clearly so seeing his sudden and very apparent glee perturbed her.

"I'd like to satisfy my curiosity for you." He smirked, his eyes essentially saying _this isn't a question._ "You're more open than you'd been with me before." And there he goes being so polished- thought out, fucking deliberate. She wants to punch him.

"There's a stark difference between openness and honesty, Mr. Mikaelson." Susannah puts her glass down, face implacable.

Elijah was...delighted. She was a fountain of information willing to spill, even as she got more clumsy and less together she didn't lose an edge of her wit or mental sharpness. Such an interesting affect alcohol had.

"Your inclination isn't towards honesty."

Susannah giggled, actually giggled. _Gods._

"That's the second time I've been called untruthful today. I wouldn't say I'm not honest...I'd say I'm inclined to let my inner truths lie dormant. I'm not waiting to be unearthed. I know who I am."

"Then simple questions should be of no bother or concern, all in the name of our deal, _after all_. I'll start with something easy," Elijah said, catching Susannah's attention. "Tell me about your mother."

"That's some lazy psychiatry," blurted Susannah, ever as sharp even with the slight slur to her words. "A low-hanging fruit."

"I suspect that particular fruit is on a very high branch. Very difficult to reach."

"So is my mother," grumbled Susannah. "Barely knew her."

"Interesting place to start."

Susannah took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Tell me about your mother, then."

"An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind, sweet Susannah."

Susannah wonders if she will ever tire of watching Elijah. His quiet grace, his control, his lifetime of discipline. And no small amount of suffering. She can't help but try and picture what he might have been like as a child. Before what happened to- Henrik ( her empathy and psychic abilities allowed her some insight into that particular wound but not much more than surface level) and after. She wonders if younger him would regret what older him has become.

"Luckily it's just you and me."

Elijah paused, tilting his head. He wasn't surprised per-say more so, expectant. Like he expected Susannah to lash back with similar questions. "...Both my parents always kept their distance emotionally from their children, even before-" he paused for a second, contemplating. "Neglect does many things to people. It wounds children. Numbs family.

Susannah let a brief pause rest between them, breathing in the rich, power laden atmosphere of the room. "There's something foreign about family," Susannah breathed out. "We should go."

She takes a deep breath, and stands.

Almost instantly, a wave of dizziness hits her and she stumbles, reaching to Elijah for support.

"Are you alright?"

"I just...need a moment...to get used to standing." She leans heavily against Elijah. She wasn't doing anything besides using him as a point of steadiness and yet it felt as if she were holding his universe together.

She buries her head into his chest, listening to the comforting sounds of breath, his heart didn't beat but he was still warm. Elijah looks down at Susannah, surprised at the physical contact. It's an act of trust. Almost childlike.

He breathes in her scent. It's largely whiskey at this point, but he is close enough to her that he can also detect shampoo, laundry detergent, peanut butter, and underneath it- finally- her true scent. He isolates the scent and inhales it.

Susannah's hand clutches onto Elijah's shirt, and she closes her eyes. "I'm sorry...I-"

"It's okay," Elijah soothes. Her touch is like a slow drip of paint that covers the Mona Lisa, then finally the entire bucket splattered on top. "I hope you won't be overly offended at the suggestion: do you require me to carry you?"

Susannah tried to take a step forward and when the world began to tip over, she blinked and hurried to steady herself.

"That may actually be needed."

"Luckily for me you are so physically insubstantial."

And in one quick moment he swung Susannah up into his strong arms as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. His hands slip under her upper thighs, squeezing at her flesh. Susannah lets her head roll over to his chest, she can feel the eyes of others on her and to hide from them she clutches her eyes shut.

"I'm not insubstantial!"

"Flimsy then?"

"Elijah."

"If you were any shorter I am quite sure you would fade out of existence."

"Oh shut up," says Susannah. "I'm not small."

"No, of course you aren't," Elijah practically purrs out. "Dearest you are simply not entirely large."

"Fuck you."

Elijah laughs at this, actually laughs, and God why is that making her heart flutter.

"What if Max is waiting for us outside?" Susannah says rushed out in order to ignore the sudden feeling.

Elijah smiles wide and with obvious relish," then I will kill him."

"How are you going to manage that with me wrapped around your torso?"

"Admittedly it would be rather inconvenient. Although they do say that where there's a will there's a way."

"Ugh," Says Susannah. "You're so annoying. I'm not even talking to you anymore."

"That's good," Elijah replies, brushing his lips against Susannah's forehead in a unexpected moment of dangerous affection. "It means I don't have to listen to you anymore."

Susannah makes an amused noise and then finally abandons self-restraint and tucks herself even closer to Elijah, practically becoming one with him. When the cold air of the outside touches her skin she practically hums in it.

"I don't feel great- my head hurts. Would you take me home now?"

"Of course," says Elijah very softly, smoothing Susannah's hair away from her eyes. He tried not to look at her too long, treating her as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

* * *

"Take exit nine."

"The man at the bar said we should take exit eleven."

"I know where we are now, Elijah. We should take nine. Get into the right lane."

"Susannah, he said eleven."

"And I say nine. Are you going to listen to me or not?"

"We should stick to the directions."

Susannah scoffed loudly. "What's that supposed to mean? Do you not trust my judgement?"

"It means you could be wrong."

"But I'm not so get in the right lane!"

"No."

"Damnit Elijah, now it's going to take forever to get back."

"I don't see how it matters considering you were just sleeping."

Susannah shoots him a withering look. Seeing the small yellow car pass by she lifts her arm and punches Elijah in the shoulder. A tightness forges around his mouth as he turns to stare at her blankly.

"What? You never played punch buggy before?"

Elijah presses his lips together, staring out at the road ahead, empty of cars. It wasn't the warmest days, but the inside of his Bentley still felt toasty. Susannah pressed her hand over her mouth and pretended to cough, to cover up the laughter that wanted to break free.

"No I have not. I am not, in fact, certain it's even a real game."

Susannah couldn't stop her giggles. "It is," she insisted, her expression rather cheeky. "You really haven't heard of punch buggy?"

"It's barbaric."

"Weren't you a Viking at some point?"

Elijah shot her another blank look, that caused a larger series of giggles to erupt from the kin of Qetsiyah.

"Fine," she chokes out. "What about a song? I could sing a nice song to keep you focused since you wanted to make this a longer drive."

"No."

"Come on. It's not my fault you added an additional forty-five minutes by taking the wrong exit."

Elijah felt the urge to roll his eyes but restrained himself. Instead he shot the girl a glare, and she had the nerve...the audacity to laugh even more.

"Watch the road, Elijah," Susannah said with a sigh. "Road rage is one of America's biggest killers."

* * *

 **Okay this was more of a filler chapter and to give Susannah and Elijah more background with each other. I don't want them to start a relationship until they actually somewhat know each other. Next chapter is going to be a direct continuation along with some meddling with Damon, Stefan and Elena...along with specific sides being established.**


	9. Chapter 9

She's like semi-okay with what's happening right now. Semi, as in kind of, as in not really. Not at all.

They just pulled into the driveway of Shelia's house- _no,_ she has to stop that specific train of thought to stop the bubbling grief consume her... and Susannah cannot recall actually giving the original the address, hell she can't even recall driving here. She can feel the building of a headache above her right eyebrow, not pain quite yet, she knew from experience that it wouldn't hit until morning, and Damon-fucking-Salvatore is lurking in her bushes like some kind of garden gnome fucking up all of her daisies.

"What the fuck!?" _Abrasive as ever._

Damon sauntered up to her side of the car window, carelessly and shamelessly crushing more daisies, and smirked at her. His eyes doing that weird thing they do when he's trying to be sexy and although she has seen Elena swoon for it one to many times, Susannah may just have a built in resistance to that particular brand of charm.

"Pleasure seeing you here," Damon drawled out, his slightly husky voice taking on an intrigued glint as he eyed Elijah. Greeting him with a simple head tilt, which caused a couple of leaves to fall out of his dark hair.

Rolling down the window to hear Damon's voice clearer, Susannah glared at him, her golden eyes looking like an act of violence itself.

"Mr. Salvatore," Elijah said emptily, he didn't even look mildly surprised at his presence, he never looked surprised at anything. "What brings you here this evening?"

"Oh you know, this and that," He skirted forward with a shrug. "Maybe a little more this than that...if it isn't one thing, it's another, you know?"

Elijah's chest rumbles with something like an assenting hum.

"Damon, I do not think you understand how close I am to taking whatever sharp instrument handy and slicing through your jugular."

"Hear that, Elijah? She seems rather unstable," Damon says confidingly, determined to address all of his comments to the original as if she isn't even here. He glances uncertainly at Susannah who looks like she is at the verge of jumping out the car and strangling him with her bare hands. "Bit of a handful is she?"

He said _handful_ as if it had an ugly glare to it, like a swear in a child's mouth. He meant it as a weapon.

Susannah couldn't find it within her to be surprised by his ways. She was half-convinced that Damon didn't drink blood, but subsisted entirely on the satisfaction of causing others annoyance.

"What do you think, sweet Susannah?" Says Elijah, beginning to stroke Susannah's hand to keep her from reaching over and opening the car door. "Are you a handful?"

Susannah makes a growling sound, which strikes Elijah as rather adorable because of the way tiredness and disorientation render it completely ineffective-and how the ineffectiveness doesn't stop Susannah from doing it anyway. Smiling to himself, Elijah finally focuses his attention on the Salvatore.

"Leave." The original's voice is rough, full with dire warning.

The coiled power that quivers under Elijah's skin is akin to a hurricane trapped in a butterfly net, destructive and rapturous and demanding to be admired, worshipped.

 _You are dangerous._ Thought Susannah, trying to communicate this with her eyes. _You are dangerous in my defense._

For a second all anyone could do was feel the stormy change in the air, and the blood rushing through the body, because even just sitting in the driver's side of a car Elijah is the definition, the embodiment, of uncanny. And part of Susannah would never not be frightened by that.

"I-"

"Whatever you came for you won't be receiving it, Mr. Salvatore."

Damon opens his mouth ready to argue but stops himself when he catches Elijah's eyes. Even Damon knows when there is a bigger predator in vicinity, especially knowing that this specific predator has no problem removing him.

"Rejection? Isn't that familiar Damon," Susannah bites out sharply.

And in that moment, to Elijah, Susannah is charming in the way a cub is charming, a small cub that will grow into a big cat. One you can't play with later unless you were a big cat yourself.

"Threatening people with your boyfriend's retribution, little Susie?" He grins, his blue eyes catching the light and reflecting it, his voice oil and slick. "Oh little girl, you seem to think you're quite special, that you're...untouchable." To demonstrate he reaches into the car and lightly touches her forearm.

"Don't touch me," Susannah hisses, drawing back as if Damon is some plague she might catch, revulsion swimming across her face. "What do you want?" She bites out rubbing her arm like it will rub his touch away...his emotions.

Elijah's hands tighten around the wheel of the car. _How dare this imbecile touch my mate?_ Elijah bites down on his tongue to immediately cut that train of thought. Mate? A frown begins to form on his face as he struggles to re-steady himself.

"All in good time," says Damon with a truly sinister sneer, and as he speaks he notes that Susannah's lashes are longer and thicker than he expected. She would be lovely if she weren't so judgmental. "No sense in rushing anything, is there? I've always found the long game more satisfying."

"Then you'll have to play alone."

"But why would I want to do that?" replies Damon. "When it's so much more fun to play with two." A spidery hand darts out and gives Susannah an insolent tap on the cheek. "The thing is, Susie, what you should know is that I've never met a person who I couldn't get the better of. Do you see what I'm saying; do you understand?"

He draws back and smiles.

"You're all touchable in the end," he adds softly. "All of you."

"I will not repeat myself again."

And even though Damon knows, he knows that Elijah has an agreement with Elena to keep him protected, something tells him when it comes to Susannah that agreement is null and void. His eyes jump between Susannah and Elijah, seemingly coming to his own conclusion. And it sends her empathy into overdrive. Damon Salvatore's mistrust and obvious hostility wrapping around her skin so firmly she wishes she were back at the bar drowning the emotions away.

"Fine. I'll be seeing you _Susie_."

"Fuck off." Her exhaustion and anger and everything else she's been bottling up comes out full force in those two words, wishing she could just impale them through his heart. Because how dare Damon do this, how dare he bring his mistrust and anger to her as if it was ever her responsibility. _And how dare her empathy latch onto it._

Damon is gone before her words even hit the air.

She can feel the energy practically vibrating off of Elijah, his stare deepening the quality of the air.

"You don't have to defend me."

"It was entirely self-serving," Elijah whispers out the lie easily. "There is only so much of his conversation that I can tolerate in one sitting and he exceeded the threshold extremely quick."

Susannah laughs so Elijah finds it fine to push onward.

"Where you truly going to attack, Mr. Salvatore?"

"Yes," Susannah replies matter-of-factly.

Elijah produces a faint smile. "You like to fight."

Susannah shrugs without actually replying and Elijah's smile grows broader and then stilling before finally vanishing entirely. "We appear to have something in common then," says Elijah softly. "Because I also like to fight Susannah: to the death, if necessary." The empath looks at Elijah warily and he slowly runs his eyes over her face. "You know I will help you however I can, especially now seeing as Mr. Salvatore's reasons for being here have proved that they intend to act against you," he adds quietly. "I would imagine that goes without saying. The thing is pet- I don't believe you really require my help to do anything."

Susannah stiffens and then looks away, uncomfortably aware of the dark images prowling about in her mind, almost as if they have been lingering and listening to the conversation and are now obediently on que. For a few surreal seconds she has the image of her and Elijah together tearing Damon Salvatore apart.

"You're not making any sense," she says sharply even though she knows Elijah is making perfect sense and that in itself is the problem. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?"

"No."

"Why do you go to so much trouble to hide?"

There's a tangible silence, undercut with a layer of awkwardness as the words whisper in her head. A petal pink blush paints her cheeks, for a moment, and she rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. Her confidence comes back almost instantly, though, and she scowls at Elijah her expression ridden with fire.

"What do you think?" She growls again, her anger feeling like a small spark in a dry forest.

"It doesn't matter what I think, sweet Susannah. You're the one who's relevant."

Her breath stutters and she absolutely despises it. Despises how weak she feels.

Elijah's smile promptly reappears at this, serene and inscrutable as a pharaoh's mask. "All I mean to say is be careful, sweet Susannah." He sucks in a breath he doesn't need. "I have a feeling that the claims you made earlier are correct. And whether I take the lead on resolving our growing issue with the doppelganger- or whether you do- or whether we combine our input together, the fact remains that I will not allow them to harm you. Not now, not next week, not any time after."

Susannah blinks a little, suddenly looking strained and uncertain, and lays her head against the window, completely unaware as she does so, Elijah is inspecting her neck. Her skin is smooth and unblemished and beautiful, and again that feeling drags up in him.

That feeling that makes him want to bite Susannah and re-open the wound several times to ensure the scar is as deep and as vivid as possible. Undoubtedly it would hurt, but it's unavoidable nonetheless, because it has to be clear that Susannah belongs entirely to him.

"You're fostering codependency," Susannah says suddenly, her voice simultaneously quiet and loud, carrying that gentle clarity peculiar to the animated films dreams mimicked.

"Is that what I'm doing?" Elijah angles his head just so, feigning uncertainty.

And the empath can feel it, the electricity that crackles just under Elijah's skin. She can sense the muted excitement, the feeble tremor of vulnerability and the distaste of it. Elijah is both thrilled and irritated at Susannah's claim, and the fact that Susannah is attuned to these shifts touches a shiver to her spine.

She may not be inside the red door of Elijah yet, but Susannah has hoisted herself up the walls surrounding it and are just barely able to look within. What she sees are turbulent waters and an endless fire. Lovely and surprising in its simplicity.

"It isn't going to work on me, Elijah."

He chuckles.

Her beauty, her wit, was the edge of a very sharp knife.

"This illusion of control you try to give me." The same thing a person might do when their toddler is going through a tantrum phase. "Do you want the blue shoes or the green shoes? The child thinks they got control over the situation, but it's only cosmetic. _I'm not giving you control of me_."

Talking to the empath feels like a game of chess without the pieces, where Susannah randomly decides the rules each day and as soon as Elijah picks up the pattern, she changes them. But that is the way they communicate. In veiled truths, and yet even her evasions reveal something.

"Has it ever occurred to you that you are so scared of trusting me, even in the slightest capacity, that you are now looking for something to prove that I am unworthy?"

"I'm not."

Susannah taps her foot against the floor of the car, not ready yet to go into the house where all she can feel is Shelia's absence.

"I think you have a hard time accepting kindness. Or that I enjoy your company."

Those words ring in her head. Repeating over and over and over.

"I knew someone like you, once. He didn't just not hold me...he dropped me. No, he threw me down and crushed me underfoot, and held the bloody, blood covered dust of me at the end, and told me it was my fault in the same moment he told me he loved me. And, alright, I wasn't...I wasn't completely without blame, we had a real knack for hurting each other. I didn't feel safe with him. Because I'm an empath and he was the opposite. No one was safe with him, and I couldn't get away, and no matter how much he said he understood he couldn't- _He just didn't want me to have anything in my life that wasn't him_."

The words slip out to easily now, her inability to stay focused stretching her tongue. It's disconcerting, how she's slow and still and bound down by a weight she can't identify.

"The point is, he found me interesting too. Clinically interesting, and something to be experimented with. He might have loved me, but he couldn't understand, and so in the end...He couldn't have been expected to see, or detect, or differentiate between the blurred lines. In the end, because of what I am, I couldn't either."

Elijah falls silent.

And his silence makes her fall cold and want to take back all her words and shove them deep into her soul. She's so tired of revealing so much of herself to this..this...man that she hardly knows. So tired of feeling lost in his conversation.

When she turns her focus on him, Elijah contrarily, feels the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of sun. She tips her head back, a cat twitching before it clawed you.

"And you keep saying these things- keep making subtle promises about not abandoning me and helping me face those who mean me harm, when you could just as easily be the person who means me the most harm. I just want you to make your _intentions_ with me clear."

Abruptly she goes still. She swallows back words hard enough to sound like she is choking. Elijah straightens up as Susannah's shoulders sag. She's lost one of their verbal bouts, and he knows it. She's revealed a weakness and Elijah could so easily slide a knife between her ribs and leave her to bleed out.

"If I was a lesser man, I'd be offended at such a comparison." He says idly.

"I don't think you could be less even if you tried."

He decides to be merciful.

Elijah makes a soft sound of ascent- he cannot in good conscience deny that Susannah is in part right. He does find her oh so curious, and maybe he has been testing her, but he has no interest in seeing her shatter. No interest in doing her any real harm.

"I shall speak plainly to you, as I have always tired to," he says. "You navigate the world knowing there is a target on your back. Your magic, your species, and then on top of that, your choice of home- Mystic Falls being a beacon to all things supernatural- this all paints you as an object of simultaneous desire and interest. You are an interesting person, sweet Susannah. However, my goal in coming here has always been first and foremost about killing Niklaus."

Susannah tucks her ankles together, her palms pressed between her thighs, shoulders curled in.

"My intention towards you is to seek," he pauses, almost as if he is at a loss for words, though some part of Susannah knows that is untrue, "companionship."

Susannah curls her hand into a fist, for lack of anything better to do with them.

"Why me?"

"You are the only person whom every time I speak with I am not reminded that I intend to kill my own family."

Susannah flinches at that.

And Elijah smiled.

She wraps her arms around herself suddenly feeling unbearably alone. Why does she do this?

God why is she so _mean_? Snapping left and right at the only person that seems to give a damn, and she knows Elijah has his own agenda, but fuck, doesn't everybody. Doesn't she?

"Just don't," snaps Susannah defensively. "Don't look at me and say that, Elijah."

"Why not?" Elijah murmured. "I am just being truthful. I though that was what you wanted."

"There is such a thing as being too honest, you know."

Elijah doesn't reply immediately and merely continues to watch Susannah with an indecipherable expression on his face before undoing his seatbelt. Up until now he's resisted showing any overt displays of dominance towards her, mostly because he is aware of the type of rebellion it would cause: yet given the sudden gravity of the situation, he now feels it is entirely acceptable to reach out and gently but firmly grip Susannah by the throat.

Susannah quivers then goes completely still.

Rolling his thumb over the place where Susannah's blood is the sweetest. Her pulse rushing below, eager to leap up and spill into his mouth.

"I'll allow this," Says Elijah quietly, "I'll allow this because I can see how much Mr. Salvatore's presence has affected you, how you let his distrust of me become your own. But afterwards I want you to consider me a friend, a tentative one if you see that as necessary, but a friend nonetheless."

She remembered long ago, being told in a honey coated voice and a sly look: _"From this point on, think of everyone as an adversary who is trying to use you. I am no exception. And so, you must try and use everyone else in order to obtain the future you desire."_

Back then, she would have trusted every word uttered out of his rosebud lips and not even bat an eyelash if he told her a lie. And now, now she doesn't want Elijah Mikaelson to be her adversary.

"You can't tell me what to do," snaps Susannah, although her resistance is rather half-hearted, she wouldn't be Susannah if she gave in too easily.

"I can," says Elijah. "And on this occasion I'm going to- because you need it. You've been dealing with this alone for far too long, and I can see your ability to empathize leaves you more mentally drained then you allow people to know. You're exhausted and overwhelmed and, at least for the time, you need someone else to take the responsibility." Susannah scowls mutinously without actually pulling away and Elijah smiles again then allows his thumb to skim beneath the edge of her shirt where the skin is soft and vulnerable- and rarely ever touched or seen. "Why do you insist on fighting me so hard, Susannah?" says Elijah tenderly. "Always: even when it's contrary to your own interests. You should know that many people have done far less to earn my ire, yet suffered worse fates than I could ever inflict on you."

"Because you-" _you scare me, terrify me even. You could be dangerous and try to destroy me. You could be pretending. You could be nothing more than a false door._ "you are an original who has an uneven advantage over me. Forgive me if I don't wish to put myself in reach of your teeth."

"You are not weak, Susannah."

Susannah confuses herself by preening.

"But I am at a disadvantage, as the doppelganger, and the Salvatore's, and even you are quick to remind me," Susannah replies. There's no acid on her tongue but her tone feels cold. "I could give you everything, and you could rip me to shreds."

And Elijah knows Susannah doesn't mean in the context of a relationship, doesn't mean it any way to promote that she would be willing to give herself over to him, but Gods does Elijah wish she did. He wishes she would just see, she can already see so much, so why is she blind to his growing attraction and want.

"In theory you are at a disadvantage, in reality that is not quite so sure. You have a devious mind. Unparalleled creativity. You're a dragon hiding behind isolation. We could cause equivalent damage to each other, that is what keeps this- companionship between us-equal"

Susannah offers him a truly terrifying smile.

When he got out and opened her side of the door there was a hesitance to him that wasn't there before. She could feel Elijah's gaze lingering on her skin like a weight, not an oppressive weight, but heaviness like a hand on her shoulder. Heat started to settle into her cheeks, and she hated that his keen eyes would pick it up.

"Susannah..." His hand reached to her, the soft brush of fingertips on her thigh making her flinch. And she wonders why he touches her when she can see the blood in the lines of his hands. One of her scars was right there, underneath the original's palm. It wasn't raised, but it was visible. A flash of pain, years old but still horribly, horribly fresh, made her choke.

He reached over undoing the seatbelt before allowing his slender fingers to entwine with hers, breaking the obsessive circle of thoughts that swirled around in her head. This was real. This wasn't some game to parade around in front of the doppelganger.

She looked up, into his eyes. She could see his soul, kind and forgiving for her but also holding its potential for untold cruelty. She could barely make eye-contact with her own family who she had been with for years, but somehow held Elijah's gaze like her life depended on it.

"I don't intend to harm you."

She nods wordlessly.

And he just, continues. "We are both adrift, I will be your paddle, you can be my anchor."

"That's...that from anyone else would be beautiful."

The inexplicable urge to touch her in some way wells up: her slim wrists, perhaps, or full lower lip; of maybe even her long hair.

"If it's not beautiful, what is it?"

He asks with the moon as their sole spectator, and the evening breeze against their skin.

 _I want you and I'm not afraid of you in the way I should be. I want all your beauty, all your art and all your horror. The best of you and the worst of you; the wonderful and the terrible- all of you, all the time._

Even as the implications of such words flood her mind in a way that's frightening and overwhelming Susannah does not pull back. Because she wants. She wants so many things and they all rage inside of her, overlapping, swirling, she wants to be secure, to be dependent: and yet the more stubborn part of her, the survivalist, warns her to run. To stay adrift.

"Temptation."

She thinks of Eve and Adam and the serpent and that stupid painting.

"Temptation itself is no sin," Elijah purrs.

Susannah shifts nervously, suddenly feeling out of her depth, and Elijah who's well aware of how striking his voice can seem to native English speakers (and has always exploited it to full effect) does it now by deliberately rolling the vowels and adding a smoky inflection to the timbre that's not usually there.

Elijah rubs a comforting circle into the center of her palm. Susannah doesn't mean to, but she sort of leans into the touch. Elijah sighs like that is exactly what he wanted.

" _Too much temptation leads to action_." She wonders if Elijah knows he is fairly good at blurring lines, at playing the serpent.

"Do you wish to act?"

So much was wrong with this. Unconsciously she rocked. She couldn't even remember what right felt like.

"I don't understand you...your fascination with me," Susannah says instead of any answer. It's such a quiet whisper that if Elijah had been human he wouldn't have heard.

Still he responds. "Me neither."

Fascination didn't seem like a strong enough. How could you roll the way his heart felt like it thundered in his chest, and his legs going loose, and excitement like heroin shooting through his veins into a word like fascination? His gaze swept up and down the elegant curves of her body and then he sought her golden eyes.

His words flush with so much promise. An understanding opened between them. It wasn't something even Elijah with his eloquent and skillful tongue could put into words, for he had no basis to define it. Elijah could only hope his keen senses weren't deceiving him and that Susannah felt a fraction of it.

"Okay," she murmured lightly.

Susannah can feel herself curl closer into a ball, her entire focus constricting and shrinking to the black soulless eyes staring into hers; the low hypnotic voice, the situation is becoming unfeasible now. Delirious and overwhelming. Surely it shouldn't be possible to feel so vulnerable yet so empowered, so right and so wrong- such a cold sense of dread with such a molten sense of yearning- all clamoring together, all for one and one for all, together at once and at the same time?

"And I ask, that until you know me fully- don't compare to any man, or person, that has harmed you. Ever."

 _You are safe in my hands, sweet Susannah, the only pain I will cause you will be rooted in pleasure._

She sucks in a breath at that, and a ray of guilt hovers over her, twists at her insides.

It didn't take long for him to bring her to the front porch where he placed her down. She swayed a little on her feet, but was otherwise okay. Digging into her pocket she produced a single key and Elijah nearly laughed at how she struggled to insert it properly.

"I can't- I won't invite you in."

He wonders if she knows how truly beautiful she is. A beautiful masterpiece, a picturesque portrait of magnificence and perfection, worthy to be Venus herself. Opulence and respect turned fear are the fine threads woven to the cloth covering her body.

"I don't expect you to." Elijah can hear the whining of dogs just inside, rushing to the door and begging for their owner to come back to them. Elijah chuckled, he had never imagined Susannah, especially considering her similarities to a cat, as a dog person, but strangely it is adorable and he finds himself feeling even more distinctive towards the girl.

He looks at the house.

"Unfortunately, I wouldn't need to be invited in."

Time seems to halt as something truly dangerous crosses over her face. He can feel her magic flare to life, and the very molecules of this earth bend to her will. His muscles tighten as everyone of his instincts tell him to attack, to destroy this threat, but he finds restraint.

"What?" The question is asked along with shards of glass in her mouth.

"Susannah, the owner of the house is no longer among the living."

He watches her eyes shut and Susannah curl into herself, looking for all intents and purposes gutted. As quickly as it is there, this show of emotion, it is pulled away as a cold callousness replaces it, even still she is a gift from the sun.

Susannah's chocked out gasp is what silences him. She clenches her hand into a fist and he can smell the blood when her nails break her skin. "You mean any vampire could-"

"Yes."

"Do you think Damon-?" Her face was hot and she had to squeeze her eyes shut. It hurt even thinking. She can feel herself getting lost in her head and Elijah wants nothing more than to lose himself in there as well.

"No. I doubt he even realized." Elijah reaches down to her hand, holding it in his own. She looks down at there hands, his skin so pale against hers.

"Can you wait here...just a moment?"

 _Oh, this is a bad idea._ Her mind ruthlessly screams at her.

Elijah nodded and Susannah takes off into the house, he can hear her hurried footsteps, her soft whispering to herself, and without any permission from his brain a smile forms on his lips. She in some ways is the epitome of adorable.

When she reappears she is shoeless and her hair is tied into a messy bun. "Here," Susannah blurts out pressing a small package into Elijah's hand. Her eyes so intense, startling in their extreme shade that he swears he can feel them pressing into him- melding with his blood and instilling a song into his heart. "It's herbs that help with relaxation."

"Herbs," Elijah parroted.

"Yes," Susannah risked looking at him and then looked away quickly. "I collect them myself from the garden in spring and summer, sometimes autumn. They are effective, and if you want, you can make a tea with them."

Elijah said nothing still regarding the package. A strange, feeling was spreading in his chest, warm and unfamiliar, and for once it had nothing to do with instincts. She had gotten him a gift. How quickly the world fades away, how easily the ground seems to give beneath him- the air tightening around him, claustrophobic. A flare has sparked, a flame has grown and will soon erupt, soon engulf and consume- devour. He's already noted that Susannah, fluid-and loose limbed as she is, is pacing, she seems to be more comfortable roving around and while that habit would be unbearably irritating in anyone else, in this case the restlessness is captivating. _You are not designed for captivity or confinement, are you,_ thinks Elijah idly. _You should be roaming free._

"I- I just wanted to thank you for picking me up. It's nothing personal, but I truly appreciated your help tonight." She shifts and Elijah realizes his silence feels like a dismissal to her.

So he leans forward and he can hear her pulse jump, and that sound is like the finest of music. A small lock of raven hair tumbled in front of her face, resting just on her cheek but with one swift slide of his thumb it is gone. She rolled her face into his palm- a caressing nuzzle and he stilled.

A response. A submissive one at that.

Elijah's lips alight on her cheek like a dew freckled petal caught in a breeze, so soft and with the smallest hint of coolness.

He pulls back, and his eyes drop to Susannah's lips. So captivated all he can see is an ethereal being- worthy of rivaling Lilith. He cannot tell up from down, right from left, the sky from the ground any longer. There is only Susannah.

And her, oh so, very, very pretty lips. They are soft looking and a natural shade of light red, the top lip was thinner but in no way too thin, and they had a natural cupids bow, the bottom larger and more plush. Her tongue darts out of her mouth and wets them and his eyes follow the movement. They promise to him softness, and sweetness, and passion.

It was intoxicating to feel so challenged. So alive.

"I- I am going to bed." Because she cannot stand here and say she's okay but nor can she say she's not, and the war under her skin is exhausting. She's still wearing Elijah's coat, the one that smells like his tasteful cologne, she can't even remember when he gave it to her.

"Sorry, it smells like me."

She says as she hands it back to him.

The darkness behind Elijah's eyes is endless.

* * *

 _Bonnie knows immediately that her dream feels- feels too tangible to be something her mind just conjures up._

 _Her body feels weighted, and the brush of grass on her bare toes is too real to be imagined. She sinks to the floor, sitting so she can bring her knees to her chest and look out onto the miles of grass before her._

 _It's a close resemblance to the land right before the falls, down to the patterns of fog swirling, close enough that Bonnie is finding herself somewhat transfixed._

 _The moon poured down on them, showering them with beams of light, they caught in her hair, those moonbeams making each dark strand seem like it was alight with passion. Longingly, Niklaus's eyes devoured her face, wishing with all his being that he could reach out and brush his hand against her cheekbone, or under those feather of thick, dark lashes. But he refrained from doing so, and continued to succumb to the endless torture of watching without being able to touch._

 _"What is your name?"_

 _He smiled but it wasn't anything she would classify as real._

 _And when he smiled- full teeth- Bonnie was reminded of a wild animal, though she couldn't decide which one, specifically. Tigers, and the threat hiding behind their bared teeth was close but not quite right. Hyena's with their maniacal, near antagonistic laughter, always a breath away from bursting from their toothy grins (Bonnie kept such speculations to herself, as they no doubt would be ill received by the man before her). Though the diversity of creatures that embodied this man, Bonnie noticed a consistency; it was never hard to imagine any of those animals with their grins stained with blood- just as it was not hard to imagine this man in the same way._

 _"You can call me Nik."_

 _His voice is rougher than what his body looks like it can contain. Dipping her head she whispers out, "I'm Bonnie."_

 _"A name of Scottish origin with the meaning of attractive," he pauses to roll his eyes over her body again in a way that makes her heart stutter in her chest, "It is a fine and fitting name, love."_

 _She finds herself feeling somewhat swept away. Nik's eyes glimmered and she knew he was dangerous. The kind of dangerous she should stay far away from._

 _Beside him is a painting she doesn't quite recall being there before. It is of her._

 _"What-"_

 _"You gave me a gift," Nik says, his hand coming to graze the side of the painting. "I owe you one."_

 _"I didn't really give you anything," Bonnie quickly insists. Thinking of the coin, of her grams and feeling her chest tighten. "I'm not even sure why I felt I needed to give it to you."_

 _"Regardless, I found it to be..." he paused rolling words in the confines of his mouth, the hand not holding the painting upwards thrown carelessly on his lap. Almost reckless. Something about him was entirely unhinged, as if he didn't care about anything and yet he cared the most of all. "Charming and this," he gestures towards the painting, "gives you something to remember me by."_

 _"How long did it take you to do this?" Bonnie hears herself ask._

 _"Two days."_

 _He says it as though it is nothing. Nik is now unfeasibly still and it makes Bonnie think of an eerie museum specimen: a piece of sculpture with swiveling eyes. Living taxidermy. As if his attention is so wrapped up in Bonnie that any other movement or gesture is surplus to requirement._

 _She looks at his hands. Nik certainly does have the hands of an artist._

 _"It's very um," she almost says pretty, or maybe well done, but instead the truth winces out. "Devastating."_

 _In the painting she's wearing the same gown she had on in the first dream, and in every way she looked enhanced. Her eyes glowing more, her skin smoother, her body more sensual. But most of all she seems at peace. She swallowed, was this how he viewed her?_

 _"I couldn't possibly-"_

 _"Bonnie," Nik says, his smile slight and kind. "I wish to help your troubled mind find peace, and peace can be harvested from multiple sources, not just companionship. Many look to art to fill the gaps."_

 _Her eyes narrow as she spits out dryly, "What makes you think I am in any way troubled?"_

 _"Why else would your mind's travels lead you to me?"_

 _She felt hot and cold all at once, and too much passed through her head, staring into the chasm of his eyes and maybe seeing herself at the bottom. "Did you ever think instead of me going to you, that your mind reached out to me?"_

 _Nik raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat amused. "Oh?"_

 _"I mean I am the one who gave you a coin meant for protection- so maybe, just maybe, I'm not the troubled one." It comes out more vicious than she intends and a part of her felt almost guilty for that, but most of her didn't really care._

 _He chuckled then. "A fiery one, aren't you? Then to provide ease to_ my troubled mind, _would you accept this painting as a token of my gratitude?"_

 _She reaches out to touch the frame. Her mind already going over the places she could possibly put it. Bonnie can almost feel the heat of the air. Or maybe that's just the heat beneath her shirt, a faint, grateful embarrassment humming under her skin._

 _"Thank you," Bonnie says. "I appreciate it." She's said that to multiple people, mostly perfunctorily and sometimes not. But tonight she means it, every word. Bonnie hopes he can feel that, her sincerity._

 _"You're welcome, love."_

 _The silence that follows is filled with a new kind of tension, the kind that makes Bonnie and Nik stare at each other a second longer._

 _"And by the way, Bonnie," Her name on his tongue was too devilish to be resistible._

 _"Yes," She says when he doesn't say anything more._

 _"I know you are troubled because I do look at you," his voice shook with something unidentifiable and he shoved closer, forcing Bonnie to lean back a touch. "And into you." Closer. "And through you."_

 _"Your a vampire." She knows this, she knows this as soon as his hand grazes against hers. But there is something else, something more there as well._

 _The evident dislike shows on her face, of that she is sure. The absolute hostility of it. But she wouldn't be Bonnie if she wasn't brave, and stubborn, and bit foolish as well._

 _"Prejudiced, are we, little witch?"_

 _Her teeth dig into her lip viciously. They're staring at each other now, Bonnie can feel her more darker impulses come forth. "Stay out of my mind."_

 _"Is that a warning?" Nik replies breezily, even more entertained than before._

 _"You don't know what I'm capable of, I wouldn't try and test me...Nik." She remembers Damon's fangs breaking into her neck, Elena helplessly watching. She remembers never getting a damn apology, of being taken advantage of from vampires._

 _"You don't intimidate me, love."_

 _"Nobody ever is by me. Doesn't stop me."_

 _He smiles and this one is real._

She snaps awake her breath coming out in a loud gasp, as she pulled herself from her dream. She squeezes her eyes shut before hesitantly looking beside her and seeing the painting.

She wants to keep it in her room, but between bookshelves and windows there isn't a lot of space for artwork on the walls, so instead she gets up and props the painting opposite her bed. It's too big and it looks odd just sitting on her desk, but she figures she can keep it there until she clears out some space.

When she goes back to sleep the nightmares don't stop. The ones of Grams lying dead. Bonnie is starting to wonder if they ever will. Thinking about the future feels like gazing into an unknown chasm and if she squints and tries to see the bottom, all she can see are hands reaching out to submerge her in madness.

But when she jolts awake at night, covered in sweat that chills her right down to the bone, the first thing she sees is the painting: her in the water. Or her being submerged in something much more violent than any waters.

The nightmares haven't stopped, but at least she doesn't have to turn on the lights anymore to remember she's home.

* * *

She gets the call in the early hours of the morning.

Bonnie's knuckles are strikingly white as her grip tightens on the phone pressed to her ear, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. She's listening to words that aren't...surprising, but they definitely don't hurt any less because of that. As a result she is pacing the length of her bedroom in order to keep her anger in check, just waiting for her father to finish his completely unnecessary explanation.

" _It just isn't a good time, Bonnie_ ," Rudy Hopkins tells his daughter, sounding distant and distracted- which is normal, Bonnie thinks nastily. " _I won't be able to make it home for a couple more months, the business excursion got extended and I would hate to leave half-way through_."

Bonnie waits a beat, trying to keep herself from giving away just how hurt she is by taking a steadying breath. It makes her head whirl and the following words that ensures is enough to make Bonnie want to lay back in bed and listen to Nik whisper out his words. No matter how much her more logical side firmly disapproves.

"Okay," she forces out, surprised by how even her voice sounds. Those breathing techniques actually seem to be working. Who knew?

" _It's pointless for me to come all the way to Mystic Falls when you could just take care of yourself. You've always been so responsible_ ," he sounds entirely too sweet and it makes Bonnie feel sick. " _Of course I'll call_ ," Rudy offers, almost as an afterthought.

Bonnie feels bubbling frustration and obvious strain tighten her muscles. "Make the necessary arrangements then," she says.

Before she can even get out a farewell, the line drops, and she's left with silence.

It's fine.

She's fine.

Everything is fine.

Despite what she tries to tell herself, she still throws her phone straight at the pillows on her bed in painful anger, growling low in her throat in a vain attempt to stop herself from bursting into tears. No. Bonnie Bennett is not going to break down over this. It isn't even anything new, and she refuses to give her father the satisfaction of successfully affecting her.

Not today.

Not ever.

Seeing that she still has a lot of time before she has to get ready for school, Bonnie throws on some workout gear and heads outside for a run. She immediately set herself up with a grueling pace as with each pace away from her house tears break through.

The warm humidity of the early morning air made her feel both sticky and suffocated.

She just keeps pushing, ignoring the burn that tells her to stop, the tiredness, the harsh sound of her own breathing. Bonnie just needs it to go away. She needs to push herself so hard that all that matters is the physical.

By the time she makes it back home her body is screaming, her lungs grasping for air, everything hurting.

 _At least there are no more tears._

* * *

Bonnie likes to think she is good at the face by now.

The face that says everything is fine, everything's good. The face that does it's best to look like it's just any other day, any other mess. A little bit tired, a little bit distracted, and a little bit exasperated with whatever Susannah's done that she should probably disapprove of.

It's good enough to pass, good enough that her friends won't look to long. Won't notice the cracks at the edges.

She wears it when right before school when Susannah stops by and makes breakfast, complaining about how some witches are perverted and have a weird overwhelming need to get people naked and paint symbols all over them. Like they are compensating for their own sexual failures. She wears it when Susannah drops the eggs and they all break and then rants about how something bad always happens to them. Like the universe seems to consider fucking with them a permanent fixture on its 'to do' list.

She sits at the table, trying to get comfortable, her muscles tensed as she tries to put more weight on her left hip rather than her right. She's not used to this strange impossible ache that's too much to ignore whenever she moves, whenever she breathes.

Susannah's voice drones on and on, and Bonnie is only paying attention to the parts that are actual statements rather than complaints and general bitchery. Bonnie knows Susannah only ever talks so much when she is feeling less than okay, as if she is trying to compensate for what she is lacking. Susannah doesn't mention what she can most definitely see, and Bonnie affords her the same respect. Sometimes though, she thinks she can feel Susannah staring a hole into the side of her head.

Bonnie picks at the buttons on her shirt, trailing cotton like all it wants is to unravel and fall. She thinks she's feeling a little of that herself.

Susannah is suddenly carefully quiet and Bonnie doesn't know if it is normal silence or not. She's being very careful not to look at her, because the way Susannah looks at her sometimes is too much, and she just can't right now.

Susannah mentions something about training, a thing the two of them have been doing ever since Susannah revealed herself as a witch, and Bonnie replies with some useless words. Mouth working on automatic.

She wears her everything is okay face all the way to school.

* * *

It's in the middle of Mrs. Tobias' explanation on why she chose the play _A Streetcar Named Desire_ for them to study first that Bonnie starts fidgeting. She can't be sure what's gotten over her, but her fingers tap lightly on the table and her knee bounces. It starts to irritate her rather quickly, so, when Stefan clears his throat, she raises her hand and requests to go to the bathroom. She doesn't actually need it, but she needs a moment.

Once in the bathroom she stares at herself in the mirror watching her mask slip away leaving her looking strangely blank. For so long, she hadn't been able to recognize herself, and now, once again, her reflection looks foreign to her. It's disturbing because: why is this happening now?

She's been fine all day- okay, not really- and school is supposed to be an escape from it all. It's supposed to be her normal place.

She tells herself it's like coming back after any number of tough days. The way she feels like she's been thrown into things. Skin too sensitive, spatter of bruises where supernatural fingers have dug in too hard.

It's not the first time Bonnie has felt like that. Not the first time she's suffered through it.

She's used to it.

Only its not like that.

This is... she doesn't even know what this is. But she's scowling at herself in the mirror- like her reflection has done something wrong. Her skin is too warm and she's kind of amazed at how no one noticed how large her pupils are, because they are too big even in the sharp light of the bathroom.

Bonnie spends an obscenely long time trying to convince herself that she's okay, which she is definitely not.

When she returns to class, Stefan sends her a worried look, but doesn't ask her anything. Instead he slides across a sheet of paper that must have been handed out while she was trying not to have a nervous breakdown. The Salvatore even took notes for her in the margins in that clear and precise script of his.

It's when she spies the little doodled bee in the top right corner, one that Stefan drew for her, that she feels the rumbling inside of her settle.

Slightly.

But, enough.

After class he slides up to her. And Bonnie can't help but appreciate him, the way he moves and carries himself. Even with all the guilt settling on his shoulders, his maturity is refreshing. Though another part of her, the part that is haunted by her nightmares of grams wants to scream.

"It's just a day," Bonnie whispers out, and Stefan looks at her like he knows she is barely hanging on. He reaches to touch her but when she flinches away, the Salvatore's expression drops into guilt. And it makes her so angry. Because she suffered. More than anyone will ever understand, she suffered. And now her suffering is merely apart of Stefan's guilt.

"You did well today."

"I haven't even done anything."

"Because you didn't need to, which means that you did your job already."

Bonnie looks away, thoughtfully. She knows sometime soon Elena will be here, summoning herself to Stefan's side. "I suppose that is one way to look at it."

"It's the best way to look at it," he says with a chuckle, his eyes sweep over her and Stefan feels as if the floor beneath him will give out. The youngest Salvatore brother couldn't help but be struck, the combination of Bonnie's features always seemed to hit him like a freight train whenever he took the time to ponder over it.

Bonnie rolls her eyes and nudges him slightly, the warmth, the power from her skin burning him, "Sure thing, Salvatore."

And as quickly as the words leave her mouth Elena is there pushing herself between them and clinging to Stefan. Something flashes beneath her eyes, not quite jealousy, but not all that innocent.

"Hey Bonnie," She says in that soft voice of hers, "Can you come to the boarding house after school?"

"Why?" Stefan and Bonnie say at the same time, their eyes darting to each other and sharing a quick smile before ending back on Elena.

"Damon said-"

Bonnie rolled her eyes, already done with the conversation. "I can't. Susannah and I have this family thing going on tonight."

"Bonnie-"

"Look if it is an emergency I'll be there but I want to spend time with my cousin."

Bonnie slides away, floating around the crowded hallway, the conversation seemingly weighing on her like an unseen dagger in her stomach. How quickly things could get even worse.

* * *

It's only when in history, when Stefan finds himself hanging onto every word Bonnie says that he realizes.

He has a problem.

A really, really, big one.

* * *

When she arrives at Gram's house, all she can remember is the way she loved the flowers and the birds, loved the sunlight and the clouds that drifted by, the leaves moving in the breeze and the whispering sound they make. All the pure energy that flowed off of Shelia Bennett's house. Yet the tiredness that began a while ago remains like a veil over Bonnie's skin, grey and cold. And as she watch the flowers and the clouds there is only a creeping sorrow where there should be joy.

Every step feels heavy as it always does when coming to this house since grams had passed.

And when she finds the key hidden under the porch and invites herself in, she gasps at the sight that awaits her.

Susannah is sitting in the middle of the living room, clutching two bloody hands to her chest and trying, and somewhat failing, at attempting to even her breathing.

Every single mirror is shattered.

"Sus-"

"I just- I just didn't want to see myself."

Every muscle in the empath's body looked tight, poised for action. The panic began like a cluster of spark plugs in her abdomen, in these moments after the hurricane she understood the drug addict...anything, anything to stop the primal urge to flee.

Bonnie nods slowly, hesitantly. Not quite understanding but also not willing to condemn her cousin. She drops to her knees, in front of Susannah, gently prying her hands away from her chest and opening her shaky fists. Small glass shards are imbedded into her skin. Sighing Bonnie darts into the bathroom and quickly gathers a wash rag and some tweezers.

Bonnie is secretly afraid she will say something stupid.

Say something human.

When she settles back down in front of Susannah, grasping her hand, she finally finds words. "How are you feeling?" Her voice was low and her words slow. She may as well have donned a pair of kid gloves.

"About the same as the last time you asked me that," Susannah barks out, and at Bonnie's raised eyebrow she mutters under her breath. "I don't know."

She leans into Bonnie, warm and trusting and graceless, none of the qualities Susannah often let herself come off as, none of the qualities that really apply to Susannah.

"Attempt honesty, for me?"

Looking up to the sky, almost as if she expected some sort of God to strike her down. "Could be better. Could be worse. I can't exactly explain."

"What can I do to make it better?" _If I can help you...just maybe I could help myself too._

Susannah clutched at the necklace hanging down her neck, it pressed white-hot against her skin. A flood of sudden tears fought to touch the air, to show her inner pain, and she mentally cursed and pleaded and screamed for it to stay in. "I can't stay in this house anymore- all I can feel is _her_ absence."

Tears burn Bonnie's eyes. "You can stay with me-"

"Your father hates me...he always resented that Grams took me in."

Susannah is ashamed to admit that at one point in her life, she had been quite familiar with the self-help section of literary establishments. Back then, the monsters in her head had lurked sulkily as Susannah ignored them and read such melodramatic bullshit such as, _Find your Inner Buddha_ and _Ten Steps to a Better you_. It turned out that Susannah didn't have a better her. And none of those tips she got were of any help.

Especially now.

"He doesn't." Bonnie says her face twisting into a pained expression.

"He does."

Bonnie's breath eases out shakily. "Can we not talk about him." Her cheeks puffing out as if she is twisting air in her mouth. The pain of him refusing to come home for Gram's funeral was too much. It only reaffirmed that Bonnie would never be enough for him, that in some unfixable way, she had failed him.

"What- what about your parents?"

A stillness touched the air.

Bonnie wants to swallow back the words because she knew neither of them were mentally stable at this moment for this conversation.

Stretching her legs out, Susannah uses her magic to summon forth a fire in the fireplace, watching the way the flames flicker and writhe, obviously trying to summon sufficient inspiration to begin describing a painful and intricate subject. "Parent-singular," She finally replies. "Only my father was really around back then and when my mother was there- it wasn't good. And he never talked to me or acknowledged me unless it was to- I suppose he would have rather had a son but it wasn't like he was angry about it, more like...quietly disappointed. He regulated me as if I was property. Which in a way, back then I was." Susannah laughs suddenly. "But that was then and this is now. _And there is nothing left of my parents_."

"Oh-" Bonnie said shortly, her mouth opening and closing multiple times. "I- you never talked about them before."

Susannah shrugged unhelpfully.

Bonnie bit her lip as she struggled to come up with an idea. The glass finally cleared entirely from the empath's hand, so Bonnie takes the wash cloth and squeezes it around her hand, soaking up the blood.

"Well then what do you want to do, Susannah?" Bonnie's voice was a touch quieter now.

"I brought a house."

Bonnie's eyebrows shoot up her forehead, shock rattling her. "You brought a house?" She repeats her voice sounding rather faded.

"Yes," Susannah shifted looking somewhat uneasy. "I brought it a while ago...but I just, I just couldn't leave this house behind. I thought if I stayed I would still be able to feel her, but she's gone and I can't keep holding onto nothing."

Sucking in a breath, Bonnie felt a rush of anger. "Please tell me you didn't sell-"

"No, never." Susannah twisted her bloody fingers together. "I just- will you help me move, there's not much of my stuff to take because slowly I've been-"

"Yes, of course." Bonnie interrupts, reaching over to touch her cousin's shoulder and quickly becomes distracted when fives dogs come rushing into the living room crowding around Susannah in a warm fuzzy embrace. "Wow," Bonnie says quietly shocked at the sheer number of animals. Bonnie knew that Susannah had started taking in some strays, but she had assumed one or maybe even two.

Not five.

"Five dogs?" Bonnie laughs out when one of the bolder dogs comes and licks at her face.

Susannah shurgs. "They help soak up the sadness. But they can't be in here, I don't want them to get glass stuck in their paws."

Standing up the two of them usher the dogs back into a guest bedroom the two make quick work of cleaning up the glass. Laughing as the use magic to sweep it all away. Pulling out her phone, Susannah types out a quick message and presses send before her rational mind has time to catch up.

Bonnie who glanced at the screen, tilts her head. "So you text Elijah now?" She asked with an odd look on her face.

"Yeah? Is that wrong?"

"It just- I mean you're opening a line of communication that never really closes. Even if you are just asking for a favor, then there's the back- and- forth about arranging details, then anytime the other person wants conversation it's just there, waiting, like a perennial blinking cursor in a document. It's a lot of pressure. Worse than that, it's a precedent. It's a precedent I'm not comfortable with at this time."

Susannah rolls her eyes to the ceiling-the heavens, probably. "When did you stop thinking in straightforward lines and start spiraling into the land of unnecessary complications, where what should be easy becomes difficult and what should be obvious becomes obtuse?"

"When my anxiety skyrocketed," Bonnie said with a shrug.

Susannah raises an eyebrow. "Likely excuse," she pauses her voice deepening with sudden seriousness. "Has something happened? You seem... actually tense?"

Bonnie is quiet.

So quiet, Susannah feels something within her drop.

"Do you think my dad loves me?" She asks, and Susannah honestly doesn't have an answer for her.

* * *

" _Elijah Mikaelson_ ," The voice croaked out through the phone. He could hear the wry smile, and his lips curl up very slightly at each end. It should be a smile, but the expression was off. No one could ever truly be sure of what expression it is- just what it isn't.

"Toshi," Elijah greets politely. He adjust the tea that sits in front of him and let's his eyes wash over the other residents in Mystic Falls, making sure no one of danger was able to overhear.

" _It has been quite a while since I last heard from you_ ," Toshi says, his voice as warm as ever.

Toshi was a psychic and devout holy man, in his travels Elijah and the man had become somewhat of friends, so to get a call wasn't necessarily off but it didn't make the situation feel right either. Most wouldn't have dared to share their insights with an original, but Toshi was extraordinary and probably the least judgmental man in existence.

"Why have you called?"

" _To warn you_ ," Toshi replies simply.

"Oh?"

" _Take good care of her, she will lead you to great things, even if the cost seems more than you can bare_."

"Cost?"

" _Don't worry about it_." He could hear the smile in Toshi's voice. " _Price is trivial when the outcome is wondrous_."

"Who do you speak of," Elijah asks even though he knows the answer.

" _You will be in uncharted territory, Mr. Mikaelson. You won't have the tools you need for this journey; though knowing the way that you are, I assume you will create them rather quickly. Expect to go through a profound upheaval of your world, of everything you know to be true. Susannah will tear down your walls from their foundations...it's up to you what emerges from the wreckage_."

"What makes this so different?" It's a light question with a double edged sword attached to everyone of his words.

" _You carry a shared soul_."

The call ends rather quickly after that and Elijah leans back in his chair, moving like music, confident and refined.

It suddenly made sense. This was the first time he had felt an almost mystical attraction to a woman, he thinks of the mark, the mark on his left shoulder that looked more like a diamond than a birthmark. It was thin and long and sharp. And he knows Susannah carries the same one some where on her perfect body.

He had never let any of his previous lovers touch that mark, he had known, Elijah had always known he would have a soul mate. But after centuries and centuries of searching he had effectively given up.

But now...now...everything has changed

Susannah Bennett feels rather...eternal. And Elijah may just be a blink of an eye in the girl's story. But he wants to be more than a sentence. He wants to be a paragraph, a chapter, an entire novel. He wants to engrave himself into her life, and tear everything apart, tear the pages and crumple them into balls and seat everything aflame. He wants to break into Susannah's world, shatter everything into a million glass pieces, slice cracks into her armor. Crawl inside her heart and make a home in it. He wants to matter.

So how does he achieve this?

Susannah deserved a proper seduction and courtship. Elijah would present an elegant display to enrich all the senses- the finest ingredients, the sweetest nectar and most tender flesh, and a captivating centerpiece. He would prove himself as a capable provider, attentive, and show how he cherished her. He would see Susannah sated in every way, warm her with a fire, make her body sing.

Of course all of this would be easier said then done. He knew immediately she would reject him if he made his intentions towards her clear in any shape of form.

He let out a sigh.

A small smirk forming on his lips.

He was prepared to play.

He wanted to win.

And Elijah always had enjoyed challenges.


	10. Chapter 10

The house was both warm and simplistic and so utterly Susannah.

Ripe in isolation, surrounded by even land, and beyond that woods. She had fallen in love with it the first time she had laid eyes on it. The property was nearly forty-five minutes away from town square and offered a truly content picture, one free of the stresses of closeness and general human attachment.

A river of water coming straight from the falls themselves ran a steady course just outside the property lines.

The water was uncommonly clear, and due to the steady current impossible to correctly gauge the depth. Serenity swelled over the empath as she stared at the expanse of blue before her, the most beautiful of mirrors- never showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so devastatingly smudged and broken. Sure it is transient, changing day by day, but that's what makes it all the more precious.

Bonnie shoots Susannah a considering look, slower and measured in a whole different way.

"It's beautiful," She finally says, openly, honestly. Her smile is tight, and wavers for a moment, before she closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. "It's just...so far."

Bonnie can just imagine Susannah fading from her life, never visiting, leaving Bonnie well and truly alone. The dreams she had for the last few nights haunt her, stuck as she struggles to fight back to reality. She screamed out for help but nothing came out of her mouth as she sank deeper and deeper within a sea filled with her mistakes. As she reached the bottom, she knew no-one was going to save her; no knight in shining armour, no Prince Charming. So she closed her eyes and forgot about the world, the world that ruined her forever, and then she wakes up.

Bonnie knows without a doubt she can survive being lonely, there are after all worse affiliations, but that doesn't make it seem any less brutal.

She feels herself bite her lip as tears burn her eyes, _fuck,_ the last thing she wants to do is cry. She wheezes and her lungs burn even though there is plenty of air, _too much air._

"I won't be gone," Susannah says quietly, her eyes focused on the house, probably taking in minute details- it doesn't really matter Bonnie just knows she couldn't handle her all seeing gaze right now.

"My dad," Bonnie began, feeling the words claw there way out," is going to be gone for a while."

There was a time when Bonnie had been younger that her father had lost her in a store. She didn't blame him for losing her then, much like one loses something they're fond of. She could remember the distinct lack of panic as she looked around the busy building and walked down aisle after aisle, searching. When she finally made it to the electronic section, she stood in the middle of the aisle and there was a flash of light as the fluorescents above her went out.

She stood there, left in stagnant, tepid darkness and when standing became too tiresome she took off her coat, laid it out on the floor and sat down.

When her father found her he yanked her up by her arm and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from screaming, the iron taste of blood filling her mouth from her split lip. He silently whisked her out of the store and when they got to the car Rudy told Bonnie that she certainly was her mother's daughter. Good for nothing but running away.

Then his eyes watered, desperately fighting back tears as he gathered himself. Like he could put things back together, fix the rift his words caused.

And so that's what life became. Rudy not despising Bonnie, but not caring for her either. She was nothing more than a leaf in the wind- unnoticed, undisturbed, and gone within the next second.

Soon, something flashes in Susannah's eyes, her anger making them darken, an almost inky veil of blood clouding her gaze.

"He's busy," she tires to explain even though the words come out all wrong.

"He's absent."

"I'm too tired to be angry."

A tired that sinks into her bones and makes everything seem bleak, almost equating to insanity.

"I guess I feel enough of that for the both of us."

"You're angry with him." Bonnie raises an eyebrow. It's not so much as surprising as it is exhausting. Bonnie had learned early on that Susannah and Rudy are to stay separated at all times or else they tend to go for each others throats, and Bonnie instinctively knows that Susannah's bite would probably cause permanent damage.

"He's an asshole," Susannah frigidly seethes out.

"I'm sorry about how he treats you."

"You always do that," she sighs out, kicking at the grass. "Apologize and follow behind him to sweep up whatever falls out of his mouth, even when he isn't here."

Bonnie smiled, a sick parody of any real happiness. It wasn't a good fake smile because she didn't look friendly; she looked like she was going to throw up. "Yeah, well I'm sorry about that too then." Bonnie looks out at the dogs jumping around and tries to summon some warmth inside. "what- what did he say to you...the last time he was here that made you so angry?"

Originally, Bonnie had worried the empath would be hurt by her father. For whatever reason, Rudy had taken one look at the girl and decided she was unwelcome and nothing more than a disturbance, but Bonnie had never expected...never guessed Susannah would be angry. She had never really seen her cousin properly angry. She got distant sometimes- withdrawn, snappish- but never angry.

She jumped past anger every time, always with a smile that was sad at the very edge.

Everything was okay. Nothing was a big deal. Bonnie had wondered about that, about how and when she had been hurt so deeply that normal wounds didn't register.

"Bon-"

"Tell me," Bonnie said lowly, she is an island nation, overgrown by darkness and surrounded by an ocean of hurt. "I can take it."

"It's not what he told me Bonnie," Susannah said quietly. "It's what I could see."

"And what did you see?"

"It's just misdirected anger, Bonnie. It isn't really about you, but about-"

"My mom?" Bonnie hunkered down, an instinctive move. Words about her mother were dangerous, and Rudy Hopkins used them like a clumsy scalpel, too much shakiness to make a clean deep line.

"And there it is; the inevitable reaction to a woman you hardly even remember." Susannah's voice softened. "He makes you feel sorry for carrying half her genetics."

"No."

"Not directly but he does."

 _Just like your mother, good for nothing but running away._

Overhead, the sky was lovely, not a cloud in sight, and the leaves that were left on the trees fell in droves with each cold breeze that called to them. Their nakedness was a small comfort to Bonnie, the one shred of honesty that seemed to surround her these days. No matter the chaos, nature would follow its course.

Her hand pawed, fumbled, and found Susannah's. Her grip was tight, and the empath's bones creaked under the pressure, but she couldn't bring herself to let go. She squeezed back, shaking, and after a prolonged silence from the two of them, Bonnie let go and began to cry.

As quickly as her tears came they dried away, and in their place came resignation.

A wet nose pushed itself into the back of her hand, and Bonnie's eyes fluttered open to glance down at a brindle furred dog panting at her side.

"Hi, Athena." Crouching low to scratch at the animal around the neck, accepting an enthusiastic lick to her cheek with a chuckle and a grin. She was glad the newest addition to Susannah's pack of strays was fitting in so well. Someone must have trained Athena before, because she was incredibly well behaved and attentive. She wondered how such a friendly, intelligent dog ended up filthy and frightened wandering around near the highway.

Susannah had briefly considered searching out her previous owners, but something must of happened for her to end up in such a state, and Susannah was quite frankly too selfish to give up a dog once they had already bonded.

"Hey Bonnie," Susannah called out to her voice summoning the other dogs forward, which included Delilah, Koda, Loki, and Hades.

"Yea?"

"You down to explore the property?"

Bonnie huffed a breath, a forced a smile. "Definitely."

Susannah whistled and all the dogs sat back on their hind legs, looking at their owner with tilted heads. "We're taking a field trip. Behave or we go home. Understood?"

Koda barked.

"Good enough," Susannah said and Bonnie lets out a laugh. As much as Bonnie calls Susannah crazy for owning as many dogs as she does, she can't deny they do provide an air of relief and comfort that most humans simply aren't capable of giving. The dogs moved wolfishly in a pack, their coats merging the with wilderness surrounding them, exploring the dappled shadows as they hunkered low to the ground, they shoved into each other. The bigger dogs play fighting while the smaller ones nipped at their legs.

"Any plans for the week?" Susannah asked as she picked up a random stick and threw it, the dogs jumping along after it.

"Simple," Bonnie replies. "Try not to break-down, space-out or straight up murder someone, but still look hot while doing it."

"Should be easy, you're the _stable_ one, after all," Susannah says with a sly gleam in her eye. "Just relax, run a bath or have a shot of brandy."

"Okay."

"The second one was a joke. We both know you can't hold your liquor, munchkin"

Bonnie sputtered, her eyebrows jumping as she crossed her arms. " _Munchkin_?" The young witch repeated, rather horrified. "We are the same height- don't play me."

A startled laugh jumped out of Susannah's throat before calming, she wastes no time wrangling her hair into a messy ponytail, licking at her chapped lips. "So I hear little Gilbert is trying to get...acquainted with you."

Bonnie would bet money, without looking at her cousin, that the girl was wiggling her eyebrows- well not real money, the hypothetical worthless money that Susannah was in debt for by at least a trillion.

And yep, Bonnie was right.

"How do you even, you know what, no-I thought you dismissed him as uninteresting?"

"He is," came her light reply. "But I live in hope that he might eventually do something worth discussing. _He really should try to be a little less bland_. He's not only the most impressively boring person in town, Jeremy is also pretty damn selfish. Which isn't surprising characteristic of his, as we both know, and especially considering who his sister is."

"You asshole," she says immediately, and tugs Susannah by her arm playfully. "He makes me feel...normal. For once. So if you could stop being judgmental, that would be great."

Susannah frowns, crossing her arm." Yeah, that would be great and all...but you don't want normal."

"Oh?" Bonnie replies with an arched eyebrow.

"No. You want to be loved and you think being "normal" is the only way that will happen."

Something formed in the back of Bonnie's throat, something that always formed when Susannah saw too much, or reached too deep. The urge to cower came through her like a wrecking ball, along with a rush of anger, which the young witch firmly stomped down.

"Besides ordinary human lives are boring. Power never is. You can't compare them."

"How can you say that?" The words stutter out of Bonnie, sounding...betrayed.

"I'm just saying not all morality or need centers on humanity." Susannah kicks at the dirt below her feet.

Bonnie opened her mouth-

"No, Don't fight me on this. Humans have many fine qualities, but so do dogs. So do cows and salmon and bees and roses. Would you want to become any of those?"

"No. But I am not any of those things."

"No, you're a witch, but let's not forget who burned our ancestors at the stake," it was said without any drama, just matter-of-fact honesty. "Besides Bonnie, I think your friends have you believing that magic is supposed to be used as weapon, all serious spell work or life and death. And it doesn't have to be that at all, it can be something you enjoy simply for the sake of enjoying it. Sometimes it's painting a sigil for beauty on your face with foundation before blending it into your skin or even enchanting your lip gloss for your smile to brighten the day of everyone you meet."

Bonnie suddenly feels painfully out of place, "You...you can do that?"

"Of course you can." To lighten the tension Susannah smiled boldly, and takes a small step back. "I simply want the best for you, Bonnie. I wish you wanted the best for you too."

"Why can't Jeremy be what's best for me?" Bonnie argued, even though the fight had long worn out of her. Jeremy was...cute, but he didn't make her heart jump, as the bare minimum she felt appreciation for that fact he even noticed she existed. Compared to her best friends she was considered the sexless one, the easily approachable one. _Was she perhaps confusing gratitude with genuine feelings?_

"He doesn't fit your criteria," Susannah informed her boldly, as one of the dogs rushed back, stick dangling from his mouth, the others following close behind.

Bonnie almost dreads asking: "And what is my criteria?"

She winks. "You're going to need someone that can get a little...uncivilized."

* * *

She smells overwhelmingly of artificial vanilla and Elijah narrowly resists wrinkling his nose, her breasts pushed out of her dress as if they were medals she wished to flaunt. Carol Lockwood offers a sad smile that is entirely disingenuous, and that Elijah sees through in less than a second. Her eyes are too sharp, too focused on surveying him and sizing him up. What does she see when she looks at him, he wonders? Opportunity surely- but there is something more, something-

Her teeth sink into her lower lip, eyes cast downwards and glances up through her lashes. It's coquettish and irritating. Although it made getting invited in a rather easy feat, and even easier to compel the woman, being the whole reason he's even here. Better to work in his contingencies now, he wouldn't be Elijah Mikaelson after all if he didn't plan ahead.

"People are drawn to their opposites," Carol said in a low voice: "Take yourself for example: the privileged, social elite, and elegant man you are, may desire inelegance. Impurity." She got up from her side of the table across from him ignoring the tea, rounding the table to perch herself right next to him. "I imagine you find pleasure in all things...vile."

His expression was one of friendly amusement but rather shallow, already regretting the idea to join her for tea.

"Susannah Bennett is a rather odd girl."

"And that correlates to vile?"

Carol Lockwood promptly flinched, as if used to being believed at face value, and especially about this. She was after all, and upper class woman who balked at the near notion of being held accountable and doled out racism and homophobia between sips of her imported tea, while pretending she would never do such a thing.

"Not entirely," The woman says slowly, before removing herself from his vicinity. "It is just as I said, odd. I mean no offense, but someone like her could be potentially dangerous to a reputation," Carol follows her statement with a little laugh.

" _Someone like her,"_ Elijah repeats, something dangerous swelling beneath his skin. "Explain that to me."

Carol laughs again although it is a little strained. "I only mean to say there are so many more _viable_ options for a partner, and I have no intention to get involved in your relationships, Mr. Smith, but as you know- small towns lack any privacy."

A pause.

Elijah lets the air become stagnant, lets the careless words stain his mind.

"I am finding your current conduct to be unspeakably discourteous," Elijah says with all the weight of a lord communicating a capital sentence, there is a tightness around her eyes that menders on the border of being bitterness.

"Elijah, I only mean to say that to pursue a relationship-"

Elijah feels his mask descend in full, his good humor gone, he resist the urge to stand and tower over her, lest she misinterpret intimidation as guilt - but the desire is strong enough to make her aware of how inconsequential she is, and what a terrible transgression she has made against him. Elijah folds his hands atop the table and levels her a piercing stare. The tone of his voice lowers to a sibilant warning of a great serpent poised to strike. "Mrs. Lockwood, I ask that you listen to me very carefully."

Carol freezes in place. She is a butterfly pinned to a specimen box for his enjoyment. He wonders if she can feel a piercing pain.

She swallows, sets her jaws. "Yes."

Elijah leans forward. Although it has been many years, Mystic Falls, has always been, and will always be, Mikaelson territory. She is no threat to him, and it seems only now she is starting to realize that her accusations are unappreciated. "I do not appreciate your insinuations about Susannah's character. Whatever vendetta you have against Susannah, be it personal or professional, I would ask that you learn to keep it to yourself and not use petty gossip as a tool to remove me from her life. This behavior is completely unacceptable and altogether displeasing."

Carol's face slackens with shock and dismay. For a split second, he sees a flicker of fear. A deep satisfaction enters his bloodstream.

"I hope you take this opportunity to learn and grow," Elijah says, and lifts his chin. He is prideful, victorious, and she has lost this headstrong amateur gambit. They both know it. "And I hope that if we are to stumble upon each other again, it will be under more civilized terms."

Carol swallows hard. She looks so incredibly uncomfortable, filled with anger and apprehension that knows no direction. Her fingers shake as she winds them together in her lap; her eyes bright with indignation.

"I will see myself out," Elijah only pausing to compel her and remove her dependence on vervain.

* * *

"What?" Bonnie asks upon entering the boarding house her voice the sulky tones of a querulous child, her hand resting on her hip as her eyes jump past everyone already congregated inside. Elena sits in an armchair with both Salvatore brother's just behind her, in the far corner is Caroline, who pockets her phone as soon as she hears Bonnie's voice, a breathtaking smile forming on her face.

"Hey," Caroline greets, striding over to pull the girl into a hug. Her blue eyes sparkling with relief at the sight of her bestfriend.

Elena just manages to stop herself from doing the same, unsure if she was even allowed to touch the young witch any longer. A echo of pain courses through her veins at the thought, and timidly she forces out a cough before standing as well.

"Hey Bonnie," She greets with as warm of a smile she could manage.

Something dims in Bonnie's green eyes because she knows just from the look on Elena's face that something she more than likely will not want to do will be asked of her.

"Did you bring your witchy cookbook?" Damon asked at the slight lull, abrasive and straight to the point as usual.

Bonnie rolled her eyes, "Is anyone going to tell me why I had to be here?" The good energy she had been basking in all day left her like ink staining a blotting paper, the anemic emotions that had no substance, but were flat and strained like a used tea-bag taking root inside of her.

Damon tossed something at her and Bonnie's hands automatically shot up to catch it. It was a talisman of some sort, the symbols on it were completely foreign to Bonnie and yet she couldn't shake the feeling she had seen it before. The medallion was shaped in a circle, much too heavy to comfortably rest on the neck, carried on a heavy gold chain. The symbols encircled a giant cat's eye stone, the light catching it in strange ways and making it glint eerily.

She could feel the magic seep into her skin, examining her almost. It didn't feel malicious, but it was much too similar to being prodded at by a doctor for Bonnie to be comfortable.

"What-?"

"It belongs to the Martins, Elijah's pets warlocks," Damon said over his shoulder as he poured himself a drink, "We need you to use that to see if we can gather some information from them."

Bonnie nearly laughed, challenging, " _And_ they just gave this to you?"

Damon's own smirk rose as if summoned, "What can I say Judgy, I can be persuasive."

Elena's expression fluttered like a manic blue-jay as her leg jumped up and down, her tongue feeling heavy in the narrows of her mouth. She couldn't believe it, she should stop this, tell Bonnie to not bother...that the necklace, or talisman, or whatever it is didn't come from the Martins but rather Susannah. That Damon had realized the proverbial door to the Shelia Bennett's house had been kicked in and something was _stolen_. She swallowed, reaching for Stefan to steady her and bit her tongue.

"In other words you stole it," Bonnie summarized, shaking her head, wholly unimpressed with everything Damon Salvatore. "I'll see what I can do."

Sinking down into a chair Bonnie place the talisman and Emily's grimoire on her lap as she flipped through the pages, looking for- ah, there it is, a spell to enter the mind of others. It wasn't anything easy and less likely to work on anyone distinctively witch but Bonnie assumed it was worth a short regardless. She didn't waste anytime asking Stefan to gather some candles for her as she studied the spell.

It was decidedly simply in what it called for in regards to items, but in terms of magic it was rather...technical. Magic is after all a science and an art. One couldn't always just stomp onto something with the full force of their power and expect results, you have to guide it, to find weak spots and loop holes.

Sucking in a breath, Bonnie told everyone in the room to step back and then she began.

* * *

"Why are you calling me?" Susannah asks as soon as she answers, slightly annoyed that the call interrupted the music she had been enjoying.

As far as men went, Elijah Mikaelson wasn't all that bad.

But there was something about him that aggravated Susannah to the core. Maybe it was that he wasn't a condescending prick like the rest, not to say he wasn't condescending or a prick, he was in fact both, but he pulled it off better. And he was really easy to talk to.

Damn that man with that voice of his and his fucking suits.

Elijah sighed quite loudly, as if Susannah was personally accosting him even though he had been the one to initially make the call. Turns out that Elijah has a previously unknown penchant for the profound and (it must be said) the dramatic. " _Do you always answer the phone in such a discourteous way?"_

"Would it truly be a surprise if I did?" She shoots back, listening to her car engine purr as she drove on. As much as she loved the distance of her house from everyone and everything, she couldn't help the small tugs of annoyance at how far a drive to the grocery store was, a trip that should be simply made is extending into a nearly forty-five minute occasion.

" _We should all endeavor to be dignified and respectful or we are no different than animals_."

"I've been nothing but rude to you since we met," Susannah pointed out, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

" _True, but your rudeness is intelligent and pointed, not ignorant and uninformed_." Elijah quirked a wry grin. " _Your wit is something to be admired, and quite rare to find_."

"Meaning that you find me entertaining," she realized. "Is that why I'm still alive?"

" _I don't know where you got this idea that I would like to hurt you, but I can assure you that's never been my intention. I have only asked for your companionship_."

"So is that what this is then," Susannah asked, smiling despite herself as warmth lighted her chest and spread through her body, but even so there is steel behind the velvet of her voice. "A courtesy call?"

" _Indeed_ ," Elijah replied in a martyred tone. " _I knew you would feel ill at ease, uncomfortable at the implications of me calling you, and you become more yourself when your boundaries are pushed._ " She hears shuffling in the background and what sounds like a pen scratching against a paper, trying desperately to ignore the similarities of his words to her inner thoughts. It seems both the original and the empath where testing for boundaries.

"What are you doing?"

Placing sheaves of paper on his desk and spreading them out in a manner that suggested he had not one letter to write, but two dozen. He can hear the steady sounds of her car, and even the light humming Susannah had taken up to doing. He wonders if her brow is creased in concentration or if driving has soothed into an automatic impulse and requires less focus. " _Writing letters to some aquaintances of mine_."

"I know you have an email account."

" _Of course I do, Sweet Susannah. I merely enjoy the intimate quality of handwritten letters. There is a meditative quality to putting my thoughts on paper in my own hand that is lacking in electronic communication._ " Elijah taps his pen against the desk. " _And yes, before you ask, many of my aquaintances have email accounts as well_."

Susannah balks.

She must make some kind of terrible noise, because the next thing she knows, Elijah is laughing, and the sound is quite nice and warm and it makes her heart jump.

"Are you laughing at me?"

" _Laughing with you, sweeness._ "

"I'm not laughing," Susannah deadpanned.

" _Laughter is an expression of happiness and appreciation. I'm simply appreciating you_ ," Elijah says smoothly.

"You're laughing at me."

" _I've heard you've moved into a new home._ "

"How did you even- you know what, I don't want to know." Susannah shakes her head.

" _You must be enjoying your newlyfound solitude_."

"It's creepy that you know my address without me telling you, you do realize this?"

" _I don't mean to intrude_." Elijah's words were carefully planned and most definitely a lie. All he has done was intrude.

Susannah's were less so. Never before had she been a base creature, pouncing without forethought.

"Yes you do, although I don't mind if you intrude from time to time."

There is a pause. " _Is that certain_?"

"You're the only person I don't mind intruding from, at least a little bit."

" _I suppose I should hold that in high regard_." And Elijah certainly did.

"You should. I hate everyone." She says the words before she can stop them. "I like when you are there."

And when Susannah released her lower lip she tasted a tinge of blood. The air crackled with it, the jolt sentiment that her words created.

"I'm pleased to hear that, my darling," Elijah responded, firm but soft.

"Only pleased? How underwhelming."

" _The death of me, Susannah, I've said it before. Would you rather I drop all pretense? I fear I may frighten you_."

"Nothing about you could frighten me. My social competency thrives on dropped pretenses."

Susannah waited then. Waited within Elijah's contemplative silence.

She merges into traffic and sets her foot on the pedal, minding the flow of vehicles. Accidents are unfortunately common on the thruway, Susannah tries to avoid rush-hour traffic as much as possible, but she really needed to grab some groceries and dog food.

But when she notices the sheer amount of cars up ahead she can't help but groan in frustration.

" _Are you alright_?" Elijah asks in concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Susannah grumbles, and leans forward in the drivers seat. She peers ahead and sees the cars are still mobile, albeit at half speed. "Looks like a traffic jam up ahead or something. Fuck."

" _Can you go around_?"

Susannah creeps over the bridge and grimaces when she realizes she's already past the only feasible exit point, even if she meant to turn back and backtrack that commute is usually more than an hour, and adds an extra thirty or forty miles in addition to what she's already driven. "No, I'm already past the turnoff. Gotta keep-"

Her voice cuts out and turns into a sudden shuddery scream.

Blood rushed up her throat as she coughs helplessly, the pressure just building and building and building.

" _Susannah!_ " Elijah's voice became insistent, damn near commanding, sounding so very far away, rippling and muffled as if it were submerged in a body of water. Not that she can really focus anymore, a headache is starting to stretch through her brain, pulsing and throbbing. Her heart jumps as panic wells inside of her. So much pain; surely it is not possible to be in so much pain? Surely no one could endure it?

What is happening? Her nails dig ruthlessly into her thighs, dropping her hold on the wheel, ripping into her own skin. Trying desperately to clutch onto something, anything.

" _Susannah I need you to tell me what is happening_ ," His voice is tight in an attempt to latch onto some semblance of calm, but everything inside of him is raging.

"My head-" She's screaming, as more and more blood comes forth, and she chokes helplessly on it. In her throat, her nose, her eyes, her ears. Beyond her she can hear even more screams joining hers and fire and when she risks looking up through her blurred vision, she watches in horror as a car flips just in front of her, with more and more following. Her magic lashing out on everything and anything in vicinity in a vague attempt to protect its keeper, trying to fight whoever, whatever, is trying to break into her mind.

Sirens come in the distance as Susannah curls further into herself.

"Please," she begs helplessly.

And with one last burst of strength, she throws her magic towards whoever is trying to get into her head.

* * *

Bonnie screams as she is thrown into the wall, her body spasming in an attempt to protect itself from the impact.

She can hear Elena and Caroline screaming for her and she can feel herself sinking into something. Deeper and deeper.

She's so tired. So very tired.

Something is attacking her, her very insides feel as if they are being ripped apart, cell by cell... and something watery and warm is being forced down her throat, she fights helplessly against it as she coughs it right back up. Fights with everything she has.

But it's no use.

* * *

"Something happened," Susannah says around a broken sob. "I did something," and a terrible sense of foreboding sits like a stone inside her chest. She plucks her phone from its honorary place riding shotgun in the cup holder. She switches the audio output from Bluetooth to the phone's inline speakers, then kills the engine, cramming her keys into her bag and jumping out the car. Her shoes clicking against the ground and her footsteps speed.

" _What do you see, Susannah_?"

"There's some kind of accident...oh, my God, I did this-" Susannah weaves through the cars and smells burning gasoline. Fire. Metal. "I did this."

Elijah's voice gets sharp, serious. " _Accident? Susannah, be careful. Damaged vehicles can be volatile. I don't want you to get hurt_."

"I'll be fine," Susannah replies on autopilot, because as of right now she is fine. And she did this. How many people did she kill? How could she fucking do this?

" _Susannah_ -"

Whatever Elijah intends to say doesn't matter.

No, it doesn't matter at all.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Susannah says. An overturned semi takes up both sides of the highway, twisted into a near- unrecognizable shape by the full speed impacts of other cars, torn to bits. People scramble from their vehicles, some piled three or four high, sideways, upside- down. There's crying. Screaming. Oil on the tarmac- or is that blood? Is it both? Sirens wail loud enough to pierce her ears, and flashing lights overwhelm her vision. They reflect off the sea of shattered glass that covers the road, shine directly into her eyes.

It's a fucking bloodbath. Horror twists inside of her. She did this. Her magic _did this_.

"I did this," Susannah says weakly, and something inside of her freezes over like the depths of hell itself.

" _Susannah_ ," Elijah speaks again, insistent. " _What is happening_?"

"There's got to be at least thirty cars," Susannah whispers, and presses her free hand over her mouth. "All piled up, people are trapped. Elijah I-"

Sob after sob breaks from her mouth. She bends over and throws up the blood and bile that welled in her throat.

The call cuts out.

Susannah is lucky she still has the presence of mind to hold her phone tight, before jamming it into her pocket, even though she'd rather throw it down to shatter on the pavement.

Around her is hell.

Susannah stares at the chaos until her eyes burn. Until the scent of fire and death and the burning fills her nose and forces its way out through her tear ducts. Until she can ignore the carnage around her no longer and is forced to tear her eyes away from the destructive capability of her magic. Susannah squeezes her eyes shut and feels tears rolls down her cheeks and pool in the creases of her mouth, fall from her chin.

She takes a breath and chokes on the scent of sizzling tar, then pulls her hair back and runs to help.

There are human lives in imminent danger from the gas fire spreading from the overturned cab of the semi.

It's hard work interlaced with terror. Each moment is uncertain as she hears the crackles and pops of blistering metal, and after some time, Susannah is no longer sure which of the blood stains come from her and which from the people she helps escape. There are cops and EMTs screaming in her ears, urging her to get back, to get away, but they need every able body they can get to help them- and as long as Susannah is pulling people from the wreckage, she feels useful.

She cuts her palms open, her fingers, until her hands are slick with fluid. There's blood dripping all over her. Off her face, but she keeps going.

Susannah falls to her knees and helps a wide-eyed man pull a sobbing, screaming little girl out of a flipped teal Honda. The windshield shattered on impact, and the glass crunches beneath her knees. She can see the body of the girl's mother inside, saturated in red. The little girl is a pretty thing with auburn hair, and large blue eyes. She's lucky she escaped with only a shallow slice along her throat- if it were any deeper, she'd be as still and silent as her mother, trapped inside that crushed metal shell.

"Thank you," the man cries, weak with exhaustion as he scrambles back with his daughter cradled in his lap. He holds her tight enough to bruise. "You saved her. You saved her."

"Get out of here," Susannah commands through her own exhaustion, her desperation. _The man doesn't know how much his words burn her. "_ Get back. _You_ save her."

The next girl is around Bonnie's age- mid teens, maybe. She pounds with bloody fists on the inside of an intact car window, trapped besides the broken body of a man who could certainly be her father.

"Shield your face!" Susannah shouts to be heard through the glass, and the girl hurriedly obeys. She grabs the closest piece of debris she could find, some unidentifiable piece of a demolished car, and smashes the window until it breaks.

The girl barely winces as she crawls over the broken glass. Her pupils are huge, wide and black with adrenaline, her limbs shaking. As soon as she's free she reaches back inside. "Daddy!"

Susannah seizes her by the back of a jean jacket that is not nearly enough to keep her warm in the cold. Steam rises from the heat of her blood and sweat. Behind her, Susannah can see the smoke rise higher, knows the flaming wreck is spreading—she _pulls._ "He's gone!" Susannah snaps. "Come on, please!"

She struggles, fights her. She's strong and scrappy and doesn't give up easily, and Susannah would normally admire that if she weren't trying to save her from _dying._ "He's gone!" Susannah shouts again. "I'm sorry, he's dead!"

She freezes. She looks back over her shoulder with angry, red-rimmed eyes and says, "We can _save_ him!"

And Susannah wants to cry. She wants to cry, but she can't. She has to keep going, she _has_ to, for as long as she can.

"No we can't. You know we can't."

Her tears cut through the red smears on her cheeks. Pink drips from her chin, saturates her jacket. It's the same color of the chapstick that's still in Susannah's bag back in her car, and she hates that. Fuck. She's never wearing that color again, not after this.

But the girl lets her pull her away, lets Susannah get her further from the fire, and the blonde-haired cop, Caroline's mother, rushes over when she sees them get free. She nods solemnly, thankfully at Susannah—and Susannah recognizes her as one of the ones who's been in as deep as she has, trying to save as many as she can, distracting the EMTs away from Susannah, directing them to save those who are trapped or unconscious.

And Susannah's about to get there, herself.

She's done too much, pulled out more people than she can count. Her body is on the verge of collapse. This girl, whoever she is, is the last one she'll manage. Susannah hauls her back by a grip on her collar, a mother dog carrying puppies back to the nesting box. She feels exhausted. This feels like labor, and she feels like _hers_ after all she's been through, soaked in blood and tears.

"I want to go home," she says, weak with exhaustion and shock. "I wanna go home. Please." She turns to Susannah and throw her arms around the empath, even as she tries to shepherd her toward an ambulance, _any_ ambulance.

"Don't leave!" She shouts as Susannah tries to pull away. She's imprinted on her, and what else can Susannah do?

They are hastily wrapped in a shock blanket by a red harried and pale-faced EMT, ushered off to the side to make room for transport for those who are in more dire need of emergency care than the both of them. They lean against an intact concrete barricade fifty feet from the scene of the crash.

"Who are you?" asks the girl. She's shaken, pale. Pretty, under the right circumstances—the right circumstances being _not here_ and _not now._ "What's your name?"

"Susannah," she answers. She swallows hard and turns to her, offers her broken and bloody hand. "You?"

She shakes, and winces at the pressure. She doesn't try to avoid Susannah's blood; if there's a disease to be had, they'll get it from one another regardless. In this moment in time, they are only concerned with being mutually alive. "Genesis."

"I'm sorry about your father, Genesis," Susannah replies. Her throat feels tight. She clears it, and tries again. "Do you have anyone else? Anyone we can call?"

Genesis ducks her head, her matted hair falling onto her face. She nods, hiccups, but does not cry. "My mom."

Susannah pulls her phone from her pocket. The screen is cracked. She can't find it within herself to care, because at least it lights up, the amount of missed calls from Elijah is nearly devastating, and the urge to cry comes right back up inside of her. She has to hold herself together, has to. At least for now, even though the smells and the sounds are closing in and drowning her. She'll make it back to Elijah when the time is right, but that time's not now. Not yet.

"Watch your fingers," Susannah warns in a broken voice. "Where're you from?"

"West Virginia," she whispers. Susannah barely hears her over the wailing sirens, the shrieking cries, the distant car horns of those not close enough to see and understand the horrors happening here. "We were comin' to see my grandmother. I—"

She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't dial out. She doesn't do anything but hold the phone.

"Call your Mama," Susannah says softly.

Genesis does—she calls. She cries, and once she starts it pours from her, wave after wave of sorrow and grief.

Susannah puts her arm around the girl's shoulders and holds her while she screams. Susannah wants more than anything to do the same.

But she knows that if she starts, it'll never stop.


	11. Chapter 11

His steps echo around the still air. He feels more dead than he ever has. The lights too bright and blue and the fellow police officers in the hallways leading up to the room had been all too quiet, smelling of oil and fire.

"Hello," Sheriff Forbes had said, her voice deepening and cracking at some points, as she gestures brusquely for him to follow, when she opens the door to the room, Elijah feels some deadweight melt away and drain from his lungs, he can see much easier all of the sudden. The rapid hunger in him for blood still paces forward but it slows to a manageable level.

Susannah is seated in an office chair, and her head is pillowed on her bare arm atop Sheriff Forbes's desk. She's asleep.

And still...she is the most tragically beautiful girl that he has ever seen in all of his long life.

"She wasn't admitted into the hospital," Elizabeth Forbes says with a huff. "And she's only been here about an hour. She refused to leave until a girl's mother arrived to come get her." She looks at him with a sad and fond expression, wrapped up in her own exhaustion and horror at what she has seen today. She's brought Elijah to her, not only because Susannah asked for him, but because her soul demands attention to whatever sherd of light she can find.

"Actually, she refused to be admitted and you were the only person she wanted to be notified. I hope that is okay." She didn't want to worry Bonnie, goes unsaid, but it is heard all the same.

"Better than okay," Elijah inhales and exhales, turns his eyes to Elizabeth Forbes. "Thank you, truly." He flashes a flicker of his own exhausted smile, but most of his peace comes from territorial satisfaction. Susannah is here. Whether or not Susannah is safe remains to be seen, but Elijah has enough faith in his own abilities that he will make it so.

"I'll let you wake her," Elizabeth says.

Elijah nods and lays his open palm on her shoulder, comforting and thankful all in one. He is fond of her, yes, but in his current detached state, it has no more meaning to him than patting a hunting dog who has served its master well. She has served him well tonight, and he is pleased with her performance. She will survive life in Mystic Falls—

—but she is not Susananh, and thus, she is not his priority.

He sees her go out of the corner of his eye. The door clicking closed behind her.

Susannah does not stir.

Elijah has never seen her so rumpled, her bag carelessly toppled on the floor. Whether it toppled over or Susannah simply dropped it that way, Elijah cannot be certain. But there, crammed into the bottom of the satchel, is a mass of fabric, and when he pulls it out is immediately assaulted by the scent of death, blood, and viscera. Gasoline and oil. Smoke and flame.

A brown corduroy jacket. All but destroyed.

Anger flashes through Elijah so strongly that he feels himself tense, a predator preparing to strike. Susannah had gotten too close. Too close. She had willingly walked into the fire and- Elijah inhales deeply- drudged herself in the blood of more than one person, some of it her own. Foolishly, bravely, deciding to help. Elijah's rage condenses into a fine point tip, that digs into his chest, when he imagines what would of happened if Susannah had been standing too close when one of the vehicles exploded. If Elijah had gone out to find her, searching for days because Susannah had no formal tie to him. No legal obligation. No personal obligation. The idea of Susannah going into an unmarked grave is incensing.

Elijah won't allow it.

He places the jacket back in the bag.

It slowly dawns on him after a moment that he was doing nothing but staring at her, lost in his thoughts, lost in the sight of her. The closeness of her the sweetest and sharpest thing the world has to offer.

Elijah reaches for Susannah, lays a hand on her bicep and gives a gentle nudge. "Sweetheart," he says softly, coaxingly. "Can you hear me?"

Susannah's bicep twitches beneath his hand and that is the only warning he gets before Susannah comes awake all at once, gasping for breath like a drowning woman breaking the water's surface. Her eyes are wild and hollow, fierce red lines were her face had been cut by the debris. Her hands come up before her, like she intends to protect her body from an incoming threat- purple and blue, cut and bruised.

All of Susannah that Elijah can see is damaged in some way.

Her eyes take a minute to focus and when they do the brilliant terror soothes to relief.

"Elijah," Susannah whispers and her eyes water with tears, digging into him, dark and shattering. And it isn't frightened, he smells no fear on her skin. But there is helplessness in it, as if she's lost in a sea of emotions she doesn't understand, grasping onto him for guidance, for his hand in the dark.

"Are-?" Before he can even finish he has an armful of Susannah. Her arms encircle his neck in a frantic embrace, due to her height her head rests at level with his heart, as she clings to him like a trembling babe. It takes him a couple of seconds to remember to wrap his arms around her, splaying one hand across her back and cradling the back of her head with the other.

Susannah shouldn't hurt. Susannah should never hurt.

"It's alright," he says. "I have you." Pressing with no hesitancy, his body to hers. The nearness is warm, like blood in his mouth.

Her warmth is pleasant, and as unpleasant as the situation is...there is freedom now in being able to touch, to splay his fingers wide and run his palm over the slim lines of Susannah's back, feel the way her lovely body fits into the spaces of Elijah's own. And feeling her shake, feeling her cling, feeling her need-

"Breathe deeply, Susannah," Elijah murmurs, and winds one hand to cradle her skull. She feels so small in his big hands that the comparison brewed his protectiveness, and attraction. "I'm here with you, and you're here with me. You're safe."

Susannah is vibrating, shaking so hard that Elijah trembles with her by the sheer exchange of force. "I did this," she whispers. It's a cruel kindness, and she says it like her heart is frozen."I- I tried-"

"I know. I know, sweetness," Elijah soothes. He holds onto Susannah until his arms ache, and even then, he holds tighter yet. Holding Susannah like this reminds him of the way Rebekah would attach herself to him in search of comfort. Perhaps that's where the memory of how to comfort comes from. Elijah has to believe that, since the alternative is that nurturing is a base instinct- or most concerning of all, a response developed specifically for Susannah.

Susannah's damp face nuzzles frantically at Elijah's chest, a desperate animal gesture that only eases when Elijah guides her to the crook of his neck. There's no disgust to be found at the wet drip of tears. Instead a bolt of electricity shoots down his spine when Susannah's breath hitches and her teeth graze his skin.

This is by far the most intimate encounter he's been in for a while. Exceeding any short of impersonal sexual encounters.

"I feel I must insist you not be alone, Vita mia."

Susannah's fingers clench convulsively. It's as though her heart understands what her head does not. She noses at his throat like there proximity isn't enough to soothe her. The clutch of fingers, the insistent closeness- she seems nearly ready to claw Elijah open and crawl inside, curl up in the cradle of his ribs, lock herself in a cage of Elijah's attentions and affections.

"Please don't send me away," Susannah breaks out. The words hurt to say, catching in her mouth like shattered candy. You think it is sweet and lovely, and then you bite down too hard and it breaks and cuts you and makes you bleed."I want to stay with you, please Elijah."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Elizabeth Forbes pass by and look inside her office through the glass panel in the door.

"Yes," Elijah agrees. "I would prefer you stay where I may look after you. I'll bring you to my home. Make you something to eat. We can sit and talk, or sit in silence if that is what you prefer. Whatever it is you need, I will provide it."

Susannah fractures.

Elijah can see her crumbling agonized smile. It's a reflex, one meant to temper the edges and hide the true depth of her pain. Instead, Susannah only reveals it. She has seen death today; the careless kind with no rhyme or rhythm caused by her own hand.

"I should have done more-" Her voice wavers and it burns him somewhere deep inside.

"I _feared_ you were dead," Elijah says, probably more sharply than he needs to. He cups Susannah's cheeks in his palms and finds peace in the open, raw emotion he sees staring back. He soothes dirt off her cheek with the pads of his thumb. "I don't care about the lives you save or the ones you take. I care about your life. If the price was their mercy for your destruction, I would choose you."

Susannah stares at him like she is the sun- blindingly vibrant, and she cannot hold his gaze for long. "You're biased," she accuses. Her eyes fall to his collar, but Elijah knows she can still feel the weight of his eyes.

"I am," Elijah hands slide down to curl around her neck and jaw, holding her steady. "That doesn't make it less true."

Susannah's lip trembles. And selfishly he doesn't want any of this to fade, from Susannah's sweet and eager responses to being touched to her reliance on Elijah's support. The only way to make sure that happens is to keep her forever.

Yes, the creature living inside his soul rather likes the thought of that.

"Come home with me," Elijah prompts again. "Let me take care of you."

Susannah's eyes gleam, spill, overflow down her cheeks and drip down her chin. She hiccups, then nods, nods, nods. Helpless, melting into Elijah's hands.

* * *

 _Bonnie is sure she is drowning._

 _It feels as if she is being pulled further and further down, just like in her dream. Through the haziness she can feel pain. The pain has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at her stomach. There is nausea too and she just wants to sleep. Wants her mind to shut down under the force of everything._

 _"No you don't, love," A familiar voice whispers in her ear. Nik? Is she dreaming?_

 _She feels herself being moved, picked up maybe, and the touch feels so very real. So very, very real. The only thing that doesn't hurt._

 _"Drink," The voice says soothingly, and there is a warm liquid being poured down her throat. "There you go, love. Take as much as you need." A hand soothes through her hair, and when her eyes can focus she sees him._

 _"How-" She gurgles, and almost chokes. Nik, hushes her, rubbing circles onto her back, his touch tender._

 _"You called for me. I don't quite understand it myself," he says lowly, but there is gentleness to his voice. She couldn't tell before but his hands move with hesitance, as if he is choosing to take care of her when he could easily shatter her._

 _Something deep inside of her, her soul maybe, began to weep. And it's almost as if Nik cradles it, crooning low and loving, banishing the shadows of death that had crept along the edges, tending the wounds of a lifetime of pain. It's almost as if a link has opened up- or perhaps, grown is the better word for it._

 _"What is this?"_

 _Nik no longer looks at her, but instead is looking at his own chest._

 _And then he moves her shirt down, looking at her collarbone, right at her birthmark. The lines around his eyes tighten and then loosen. After a second he is gone, and in her hand is Gram's coin._

* * *

It was like this:

Every surface of Susannah's mind was smothered in fabric, furniture covered, dust gathering in vacated rooms. Her thoughts were blunted and absorbed, no sharp sounds, no clarity. All the mirrors draped over in mourning.

But it crept up on her, slithering against the floor beneath her feet, blinking in the corners of her eyes- the inconsistencies, the questions, the warnings she refused to examine. It tugged at her, hissed in her ears. So Susannah was slow to realize that besides the awful situation she was in, something was very wrong with her mind.

Someone else had been in it.

She felt like there was a film of gasoline on her skin from the aftereffects of invasive magic, phantom hands pulling back the scabs of imagined wounds and exposing her: holding her open for someone to come and bury their hands in the surgical openings. Phantom hands caressing her face, tracing the line of her jaw and lifting her chin. A mockery of affectionate touch. But there were claws, waiting- Susannah felt the diamond tip of them trailing down her neck, cutting the first layer of skin. Hands everywhere, touching her as if testing her elasticity, or looking for the right places to puncture her.

On the other side, however, Susannah's emotions are raw and harsh as they drum against Elijah's skin like the buffeting of an incoming storm. They oscillate wildly- repulsion and pain, fear and self-loathing, combinations and flavors of complexity that Elijah had not thought possible.

It is intoxicating and overwhelming and so entirely unlike anything Susannah had ever dealt with and she could not defend herself even if she wanted to.

When she pulled herself away from the depths of her mind, everything was blurring.

The room, the smell of antiseptic, the smell of blood, Elijah, Elijah is here. Elijah is here, and so is Susannah. She's safe.

Suddenly she is laughing, because when did Elijah suddenly trick her senses into thinking he was safe, and why was she okay with it. She laughs until there are tears streaming down her eyes, and Elijah is watching her with grim concern.

"Breathe, Susannah," Elijah murmurs, his hand wrapped around her waist, anchoring her.

So she does. She does what she is told, and maybe that is the easiest thing she's ever done.

"Who are you, and where are you right now?" Elijah asks, gauging her mental state.

"I'm..." she halts, her eyelids feeling heavier by the second. "My name is Susannah. I'm in Mystic Falls."

"Very good, sweet Susannah," he says. And his words hang around her neck like a medal, a collar, a noose. "Where's your car? How did you get here?"

Susannah lifts her head and looks around confused. Where is she? Wasn't she just in the Sheriff office? How did she get outside. Elijah's voice cuts through her thoughts, "Focus."

The highway. Metal. Fire. Glass. She retreated back to her car before any one could stop her. It still took hours for traffic to start moving again, Susannah's not exactly sure what happened in that time, only that she ended up in Liz's office, shaking and bloody and asking for Elijah.

"Drove," Susannah falters, her hair a mess in her eyes, feels like too much around her neck and shoulder and back. "I think." She pats her bag and feels her keys and pulls them out. "Yeah, drove."

Elijah's lips thin. He looks upset. Her words quaked something ancient, something buried down in Elijah's bones."Give me your keys."

Susannah hands them over without argument. That, at least, draws a shocked little smile from Elijah. Susannah likes it. Wants to see Elijah smile more. Wants to make Elijah smile more.

It's so cold.

She's shaking again and Elijah doesn't hesitate to remove his jacket and wrap it firmly around her. It smells of history, of the density of years. Also very expensive cologne. She makes a wordless, wounded sound. She feels helpless, gutted by the simple act of compassion. She can't even find the words, summon the thoughts to thank him. All she knows is its cold and the coat is heavy and warm and smells good. Susannah's knuckles go white when she clutches it, bringing it tighter around herself.

Something in his eyes softens, and she hates to think of what she must look like. Wide eyed, needy, and all around weak.

"You break my heart, sweet Susannah," Elijah murmurs against skin. "You look at me as though no one has ever done anything kind for you before."

Susannah opens her mouth and closes it. She's too busy absorbing every molecule of this moment, saving it. If her hands weren't busy holding onto Elijah's coat, she may have done something significantly more embarrassing.

"Where has that voice gone?" Elijah asks, though he doesn't seem to expect an answer. He withdraws only to look into her eyes. "Are you with me?"

Susannah nods. She can hear Elijah, yes. She just can't seem to find the words to reply. Her jaw works silently. She's trying. She wants to, but everything seems to be failing. And then he kisses her forehead. Barely a touch of lips and she feels soothed.

"Come, now. Let's get you home." He strokes Susannah's hair, then takes both her hands...and the gentleness, the soft consideration- Susannah swears she could call it love if she dreamt it hard enough, but even that seems too far out of reach, too sweet to melt on her tongue.

She is suddenly being put in the backseat of the car, and Elijah slides into the drivers seat. Cranking the heat up until Susannah feels like she is being held.

"Rest, Vita mia."

Susannah finds her words at last, though they arrive with lingering horror. She might wake up somewhere else, back in the coffin. Back in solitary confinement. "Not gonna rip out my heart while I sleep, are you?"

It's meant to be a joke. But when Susannah says it, her voice breaks. And Elijah looks at her the way Bonnie does when she makes one too many self-deprecating jokes. "Do you think I would do that to you?"

It's said with an edge of hurt, and it hurts Susannah right back.

"I'm sorry." She says it so reverently, and so painfully. It slashes to hear it, and Elijah doesn't want her to be sorry. He just wants her to be okay.

Her eyelids feel heavy. "Tell me I'll be okay," Susannah whispers. "That if I fall asleep you won't let me disappear."

Elijah looks away from the road. For a moment, there is only them. The glow of passing car makes Elijah's eyes burn like rubies, dripping with affection. "You are safe with me, Susannah. I give you my word."

Susannah holds his gaze until her lids fall closed.

She trusts.

* * *

 _The ballroom was beautiful, like something out of the eighteenth century, It's seamless blend of Renaissance and Baroque reminded her of the pictures she had come across of the Palazzo Valguarnera-Gangi in Sicily, though the high ceiling was like nothing she had ever seen before. It curved from all sides towards a crystal skylight at its center, pressed into the shape of a six-point star._

 _The dancers that surrounded her were eerily silent and no music was playing. There were no lights other than the candelabras that lined the outer walls, cloaking them all in shadow, and everyone wore the masks of a masquerade._

 _Everyone, that was, except for Susannah. Susannah's own face was bare and so were her feet. She was wearing an elegant dress with no added accessories. She searched desperately for a familiar face, and felt relief when she finally recognized the set of one woman's jaw, and the severe press of her glossy lips._

 _"Bonnie!" She called, rushing forward to get her attention, but her dance partner spun her further and further away into the crowd. Susannah frowned when she realized just who it was- she could make out Stefan's countenance beneath his wide panther mask._

 _She rushed to catch up, dodging other dancers, and was finally close enough to reach out and grab her shoulder. Bonnie tilted beneath her hand, crumbling slightly, her head falling to the side. That was when Susannah realized that the straight red line across her neck was not a necklace but a deep wound, gaping where the weight of her head pulled it up._ _Bonnie's eyes watched her blankly from behind an intricate purple velvet butterfly mask, light bouncing off them with nothing to reflect back. Stefan carelessly spun her into a dip, and Susannah saw that he had a hatchet buried so deeply within his spine that his vertebrae jutted out from both sides._

 _Susannah backed away, tripping over someone's foot. She startled back when she saw it was Matt Donovan, his carefully combed blonde locks stained a darker red with blood. It ran down his face from a deep gash in his skull, slipping beneath the curve of one eye to leave behind blood like tears. His mouth parted slightly when he twirled his partner, soundless, with the measured motion of a porcelain doll._

 _Susannah's heart started to pound when she realized all of the dancers were dead and each of them had been attached to the ceiling by shinning silver string._

 _The strings pulled them along like marionettes, making their movements mimic a synchronized waltz._

 _She turned to look for an exit, anything to help her get away, and that's when she saw Elijah. He was looking regal in a streamlined dark blue suit, and there was not a single injury on him that Susannah could see._

 _Elijah had no strings of his own._

 _He was the one holding the wooden control bars for the bodies, and the strings spread out from it like a spider's web, crisscrossing and rising towards an elaborate set of pulleys overhead._

 _"Elijah," She said, swallowing against the strange echo in her voice. Elijah's eyes shot to hers, the life in them magnified in contrast to the sightless stares aimed at her by all other guests._

 _"I've been waiting for you," Elijah said. "Come here."_

 _Susannah tried to breathe, but it didn't feel like she was taking in any air. She looked behind her and the mass of dancers had all moved closer to block her way. She couldn't see any breaks against the walls, no doors or stairs for her to take._

 _"Susannah, **come here** ," Elijah commanded, his voice sounding like a thunderclap as it carried across the quiet ballroom. _

_She found herself moving without any conscious decision, driven to get away from the dead that brushed up against her on all sides._

 _Elijah grabbed her as soon as she was within reach and pulled her against him. Susannah got tangled in the silver threads as she fell into his arms, they got wrapped around her wrist, her waist, her right leg. Elijah paid them no attention, using his free hand to restrain her further, resting it like a gentle threat against her skin._

 _From the awkward angle Susannah could see light from the skylight reflecting across the strings, where they all lifted and fell like a tide in the moonlight._

 _"Isn't it beautiful?" Elijah whispered against her ear._

 _But of course he wasn't talking about the strings._

* * *

Susannah snaps to awareness at once, knowing she is somewhere dark but unfamiliar, a blur of sleep and fear linger heavily at the back of her mind. It's the only observation she makes before she realizes there are hands on her, and she lashes out in a wild flux of instinct.

One hand finds a throat, closes around it. Her fingers protest, ache, and Susannah realizes that if she is threatened, she may very well die here—

—she meets her attacker's eyes, and there is no light within them. No panic. No concern. Just the flat assessment of a predator considering the merits of fighting back against prey, knowing how fully and thoroughly they will win.

"Susannah," Elijah says, and the vibration of his vocal cords shakes Susannah's fragile bones. "Release me. I'll only ask once."

She withdraws in an instant. Pushing herself with her feet and aching legs until her back meets the passenger door of the car, creating as much space between her body and Elijah's as he can.

Horror wells at the back of her tongue, thick and acrid, and she covers her face with her hands.

"I'm sorry," Susannah whispers, and guilt chokes her. What was she about to do? What the fuck is wrong with her? "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Jesus. I'm sorry."

Elijah inhales and exhales audibly. His breath is steady, alive, living, no thanks to Susannah. "No," he says, and Susannah's heart lurches. This is it. She's fucked it up. "No, don't be sorry. I should have been more thoughtful. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Is he always so fucking reasonable? If it's even possible, that makes her feelworse.

"Susannah, I'm going to get out of the car now. I'm going to come around to your side and help you out. Do you understand?"

She wants to sob. She nods, brisk and shaky, and jumps at the sound of the car door closing, then flails when the door opens behind her and her body is assaulted by cold air. She's blurring. But Elijah's hands on her are solid.

"There," he says, and one hand splays across Susannah's back, steadies her as he unbuckles the seatbelt. There's a palm on her outer thigh that tugs at her, turns her body manually until Susannah is facing Elijah. She's too guilty, too ashamed to meet his eyes, so Susannah stares at his throat like she can see bruises forming, despite knowing she is not nearly strong enough to cause that sort of damage. But logic has no place in her mind now—only fear.

"Don't be afraid, Susannah," Elijah says. He reaches out to touch her cheek, and Susannah shivers. Swallows. "Repeat after me. I am cared for. I am safe."

Elijah's accented voice cuts through the fogs and mists that tendriled through Susannah's perception. Clinging to her like the fingers of reluctant lovers.

"But we both know I am not either of those things," Susannah said in stuttered defiance. Her mind was filled with the screams and deaths of others, her grip on reality was a tentative thing. And she knew...deep deep down that no one was safe with an original.

Elijah chuckles. Leans over and gently strokes her face to settle and soothe her into calmness. The effect is immediate and Susannah sighs happily, obviously unused to being the subject of such tender and focused reguard.

"With me by your side, I assure you there is nothing I will let hurt you."

Susannah thinks. Her eyes squeeze shut. "I'm safe with you?"

"Aren't you?"

Elijah's hand falls to Susannah's 's shoulder, rubs at the juncture of her neck, and she slumps into that sensation. Rests her cheek against Elijah's wrist. "Yeah."

Susannah heaves a heavy sigh, feels herself tremble down to her bones, and she can't entirely help it when she noses at Elijah's pulse.

She feels base.

She feels animal. She feels like Koda, begging for pats, and it's so damn pathetic—

It's like Elijah reads her mind. He strokes Susannah's hair back from her face, touches her cheeks. Susannah moans softly, helplessly at how nice it feels. How good it is to be taken care of. It's so unfamiliar but so welcome that she could cry.

She doesn't want to cry. She just wants to be close.

"You like that don't you?" Says Elijah fondly. "You've gone all soft and pliant. No resistance at all."

"Hmm. It's nice," Susannah mutters back frazzeled.

"We're at the apartment," Elijah points out quietly, and Susannah forces herself to focus. To open her eyes and look beyond him, to take in the sight of the parking lot and the grass beyond. Elijah's eyes scan Susannah's face, linger until Susannah meets them. Whatever it is that he sees, it gives him pause. "Sweetheart, if you'd like me to drive you to your house, I can—"

"No, please," Susannah replies. No, she can't be alone. She can't. The dreams will make a monster out of her, and she needs reality to ground her. She needs Elijah near. "Please."

Elijah tsks quietly, tilts his head and surveys the empath. He gentle skims his palm across her cheek and down to her jaw to Susannah's neck, a reward for being so...utterly perfect. "You know I always welcome your company. I have no desire to send you away, I only want to be sure that you're comfortable."

"No, I want to be with you." Susannah wants to scream as soon as she says it, can't believe she's said something so damningly desperate.

But Elijah smiles. There are faint lines around his eyes, and he bares his teeth in a wolfish grin. He looks pleased. Relieved. "Alright, then," he murmurs. "Then let's get you out of there and inside where it's warm."

Susannah shoots up and leans forward to stagger on her feet, but almost immediately she stumbles. Her shins are screaming with pain that had faded from her mind, and she whimpers from the stretch of skin. Its too dark to tell if she has bled through...hell, there may be glass stuck in her skin.

"Damn it."

"What-" Elijah begins cautiously.

"I uh, I cut my legs."

Elijah's frown deepens as he leads Susannah to the door slowly, one step at a time. His expression darkens when she gasps at the sting. "Why did you not allow yourself to be treated?"

Each step up to the door is agony. "Can't," she stammers through gritted teeth and faded, cracked lips, "No records. I don't exist."

All she hears is a sigh before her entire world turns sideways.

Susannah's arms loop around Elijah's neck in a desperate reflex, hands scrambling for something to latch on. Her stomach lurches and her toes curl in fruitless search for level ground, her body tries to make sense of being airborn- or being completely reliant on someone else.

"I could have made it," Susannah replies. She decides firmly on being mortified at being manhandled, rather than allow any of the other more complicated emotions to arise.

"Yes, I'm sure you could have, you terribly stubborn thing," Elijah says with a self-satisfied twist of his lips.

Susannah wants to smack him for it. She also wants to run her fingers through Elijah's hair. She certainly can't have both, so she'll settle for neither, and rests her face against Elijah's shoulder. She feels like a child, and yet the original's careful treatment of her makes her feel… .

"Why would you do this for me?" Susannah asks the question as they cross the threshold into the apartment. The sound of the front door slamming shut had an awful finality to it. As grateful as she was to have Elijah's help, she was also aware that there was nothing to be gained from helping her. Suddenly feeling very out of place among all the wealth. "Are you taking on charity projects, Mr. Mikaelson?"

 _"You are not charity, Susannah."_

Elijah carries her into a dark room, flipping the switch with a casual bump of his elbow. The walls and ceilings vault high above their heads, painted a rich and soothing blue. The lamps shine brightly, all of them similar, but not entirely the same. There is artwork hung on the walls too far away for Susannah to see, and a bed that is entirely too large to go unnoticed.

Susannah's heart beats in her throat, and she makes a small, meek sound at the sight of the ornate mirror mounted across from the mattress. She covers it by clearing her throat—or tries to. She's not sure she succeeds.

Especially if the chuckle that reverberates from Elijah's ribs is anything to go by.

Susannah swallows hard, and they cross another threshold. The bathroom is opulent: a ceramic sink set into a marble countertop with not a personal item in sight, towels layered over one another in different colors that give the impression of a hotel room, a walk-in shower easily large enough for two, and a tub inlaid to a platform that is of a size for a grown man to easily submerge himself.

It's there that Elijah sets her down, on the edge of where porcelain meets tile.

She nearly snorts. _Susannah may understand a lot, but she's not sure she will ever understand rich people._

Letting Elijah go is an exercise in restraint when all Susannah wants to do is hold on. She forces a weak smile when Elijah draws back, crouching at her side with his hand resting on her thigh.

"As reluctant as I am to leave you, I'm more reluctant to leave your wounds untreated, Vita mia."

Susannah nods, silent and accepting. And Elijah realizes rather quickly how deep his attachment is starting to dig. He gathers all the supply he will need and quickly returns. Susannah looks more stable, yet her eyes speak of pure devastation.

And then Susannah asks, "What does that name mean? The one you call me?"

Elijah thinks of lying. "Nothing so unlike what I call you in English, I suppose."

He does not mention the direct translation _: My life._ It seems too much to speak aloud and he has no wish to overwhelm Susannah. And Susannah sighs, like the words are spun of gold and not barbed wire. "I like the way it sounds."

 _I like the way it feels._

It's a complication. It should be unacceptable. Elijah allowing himself to be compromised by a pretty face and a sharp mind. And even still he kisses Susannah's forehead.

"Okay," Susannah mutters suddenly. "I should- um." Her cheeks flush a lovely shade, counterpoint to the red and raw slices on her jaw and forehead. Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she hooks her thumbs through the waistband of her jeans. She pushes them down over the curve of her hip bone before she has to adjust her weight- one side is perfect and bronzed. The other hips is covered with scrapes and bruises.

Elijah's fingers flex at his side. He forces himself to relax. He understands why Hades would want to steal Persephone from spring. He wanted to draw the curtains of his life and drown in the sweetness of soft curls and supple skin.

"Do you want my help?"

Susannah swallows, audible in the quiet room. "No I don't want your help. But I need it. Please."

Better leverage assures less pain for Susannah. He'll be at a better angle not to hurt her if he's at a similar axis. Elijah nudges Susannah's legs apart with his knuckles and sinks to his knees between them, and Susannah looks gutted, sweetly so- wide eyes and parted lips, stain of red clinging stubbornly to her cheeks. Elijah endeavors to keep his touch as professional as possible, no matter the lingering desire to feel Susannah tremble beneath his hands.

Elijah's fingers brush Susannah's as they curl around the waistband, the backs of his knuckles dragging down her hips and soft thighs. He went about it with obvious professionalism, but there was something in his eyes, like a little speck of glass caught in the iris that didn't belong with the rest.

He pauses only for Susannah to lift her hips with a sound that is distinctly pained, a wince and tiny hiss that escapes between Susannah's teeth.

The pants peel back and Susannah's body is exposed, from the abrasions on her shins to the swath of blue lace that causes Elijah's mind to fall strangely, eerily silent.

If he were more religious, he would have thought he was being confronted with corporeal divinity. The temptation to touch was great, almost maddening at this point, flooding him with sensations that were usually fleeting at this point, at least to him.

The panties do little for the sake of modesty (and, Elijah suspects, for comfort), but the aesthetic is beyond lovely. The color contrast of light blue pigment against Susannah's skin is striking. The bruises the lace covers on the other side are more so. Susannah's body is a painting in shades of gold and blue, purple and red; she is a classic, stunning silhouette, entirely for Elijah's perusal.

"Take off your shirt," He says in a voice not unlike a command.

"Uh...what?" Susannah asks, surprised into glancing up to meet his eyes, her body stiffening.

"Your shirt, Susannah," The original responds evenly. "So that I may examine the damage done tonight. The physical manifestation, anyway."

Susannah's brow pinches together slightly at the deliberately unspoken mention of the other damage done. Considering the discomfort of the blood drying against her skin, the scrapes stinging angrily, and then making a shaky decision.

She starts slowly and tries her best to ignore the way Elijah doesn't even pretend to not watch. Feeling more than a little self-conscious in only her panties and bra, Susannah tries to curl into herself, as her hands hover awkwardly in her lap.

"You're soft everywhere." His voice is low, watching her. "I'll have to be careful that I'm not too rough with you."

She sucks in a harsh breath. Her eyes finding his just for a moment. The tension in the room skyrocketing.

There is a tattoo in the valley between Susannah's breasts, it is swirling and so delicate and beautiful on her soft skin. _Art for Art's sake_ , thinks Elijah reverently.

For a moment, Elijah considers leaning in, pressing his mouth to the bleed of purple, laying his own mark on this beautifully prepared canvas—but Susannah makes a soft, distressed sound at Elijah's rapt attention, and so he turns his focus elsewhere.

"You don't have to be embarrassed with me, sweetness. If you're uncomfortable, tell me so I may address the source."

For a moment she feels distinctly lost. She goes to cross her arms protectively over her chest and is surprised by the sharp flare of pain it causes.

Frowning she looks down and sees deep gouges running the length of her forearm.

"The source is myself," Susannah replies quietly, haltingly. With big eyes framed with wet lashes, so long that Elijah was practically offended. They swept high and low with each blink, and he found himself momentarily transfixed by the motion."So there's not much you can do about that."

Elijah begins pulling off her shoes. "Are you uncomfortable with your body?"

Susannah's bare foot twitches against his side, like she's considering wether or not to kick him. Elijah masks a smirk; hidden under the layer of vunerability there is a fighter trapped beneath her skin.

"No but being half-naked in front of a strange man is less than comfortable."

He looks up at Susannah, it is not just anyone he would allow to see him kneel, let alone in blatant supplication, weary reverance. If it were going to be someone. however, of course it would be her. In turn he cannot imagine Susannah completely healthy being reliant on anybody. At least they are equally compromised.

"Do you still consider us strangers?"

"No. I don't know." Susannah's voice sounding nearly apologetic. "I- I know the way you wish to be percieved by the world...but do I know you-" Susannah let's out a short laugh. "I don't know if you would ever let _me_ know you."

They stare at each other. It's strange. Intimiate and silent. Susannah almost laughs because Elijah, in this moment, feels like fate.

"In some ways I feel the same," Elijah murmurs quietly. "And then again, I feel as though I am purposely underestimating my ability to know another person. I've been alive for a long time, and in that time I've learned it is quite easy to know someone, much more difficult to understand one."

"Is that how you have endured your eternity then? Knowing people?" The backs of Susannah's calves settle in Elijah's palms. He traces downwards from knees to ankles, absently kneads at one Achilles tendon while he gathers his thoughts. He's vindicated at the flutter of Susannah's lashes, the involuntary curl of toes.

The afterimage lingers in his mind.

"I keep myself entertained," Elijah said. "I have a long trail of underground friends, if you will, who help me acheive my goals." He drums his fingers against her skin, her magic making her flesh burn. "Curiosity, interest, these are the things that keep our blood flowing. It is necessary I engage with my surroundings."

Susannah took a shuddering breath and winced when her soulder flexed. A whimpering sound fell from her mouth, and Elijah stood up between her legs, guiding her face with his hands.

"How can you stand to look at me...knowing what I did?"

Elijah smiles and shakes his head. "Everyone has a propensity for the macabre," he says as he reaches into a wooden crate, pulling out a glass bottle that is either peroxide or alcohol- although she can't help but wonder why all of Elijah's medical supplies are in glass bottles. "We are as a society enamoured with ruin."

Susannah lowers her gaze to the original's hands. Watching carefully as he unloads medical supplies.

"Let it all fall down," she hears herself whisper.

When she risks a look at Elijah she finds him already watching her. His dark eyes and attention focused solely on her, and she bites her lip to keep from squirming. "Jung theorizes that our mental health depends on our shadows," he tilts his head thoughtfully. "That a part of us, a part of our psyche harbors our darkest energies. The more we repress the morbid , the more it foments psychoses and neuroses."

"To achieve wholeness, one must acknowledge our demonic inclinations," Susannah quotes dazzedly.

Cool fingers against her chin stop her from spiraling, the firm grip startling her enough to make her look up and meet Elijah's gaze squarely.

In the low light, she notices his eyes are the same color as the blood drying on her skin. Susannah licks her lips again, staring, and drops her gaze only when her chin is released, watching as Elijah places a towel in the basin to allow it to soak up the water. The towel is wrung out, before it's draped loosely over the trenches dug in blood through her flesh.

Susannah has no doubt there's no real use to the action but to hide them from her for now, to soothe, but it's working, even as the radiating warmth from the water causes the rest of her bared skin to pebble with goosebumps.

"Your wounds are extensive."

"Yeah, well it happens."

"They don't have to stay there."

Susannah sucks in a breath as his meaning falls into place.

"No."

"My blood heals," he murmurs, finally, and lowers his hand ever so gently he prods a wound on her leg.

"I bet you do that a lot," Susannah blurts out a vague feeling of possessiveness welling in her. But some part of her desperately needs to know. "Offer up your blood."

At this, Elijah actually looks affronted. "Hardly," he says, low and dangerous.

There was a truly humiliating moment where Elijah dragged his hands firmly over Susannah's scalp, and it felt so good that her fangs extended all the way out before she realized what was happening. The effort it had taken for Susannah not to just leap up and rub herself all over Elijah was phenomenal.

And Elijah just stared.

Susannah's fangs were rather short and dull compared to his, barely peeking out under her top lip, and her eyes didn't darken, they simply glowed. Soft, inhumane, and dare he say it, inviting. It was almost as if instead of inspiring fear into her prey, she was meant to seduce them closer.

"Does this happen often?" Elijah asks, playing with another portion of her hair, eyes alight with pleasure. "I had no idea you held me in such high reguard."

"Don't flatter yourself," Susannah gritted out. "It's involuntary..." Elijah sunk his fingers against her scalp again, applying pressure with deliberate expertise and making Susannah gasp for breath.

"If they're out," Elijah murmurs, suddenly very close to Susannah's ear. "You might as well use them."

"I'm not a vampire," Susannah says, unabashedly. "I'm not going to behave like one."

Elijah smiles cruely. "I don't expect you to. I do however expect you to take what you need in order to thrive. I want you to stop fighting yourself and drink. Right here, on my neck. Drink. Drink until you are sated."

He propped his arms on either side of her, stepping closer until he was flush against her, looking as if he didn't have the slightest care in the world.

"Do it," Elijah pushed, letting his head fall back, eyes closed, exposing the column of his throat.

Vampire's don't offer their necks to anyone- everything about their nature is take, force, its adapt or die. Wolves can be medicated, treated, and live their lives as humans if they wanted to. Vampires have no choice.

"That...implies a bond." She wets her lips, and swallows- fuck, her throat is so dry. "You would be mine."

Elijah's smile is so wide, so wide. Susannah's teeth ache.

"It's a theory," he says gently, a soothing purr rumbling in the back of his throat. "One I am more than willing to test, if you're amenable."

For a few dangerous seconds, Susannah had let her head loll to the side, parted lips and razor sharp teeth just a breath away from giving Elijah what he wanted. The moment hung between them, syrup-thick, lethal.

Then Susannah came back to herself and clamped her mouth shut. The hunger was ever-present and for a while she could survive it. Force her body to operate with half of what it needed, but right now, every single cell in her body seemed to be losing control and breaking down mental barriers to get what it wanted. She could just imagine sinking her teeth into-

"Susannah?" Elijah asks, and Susannah blinks to see most of her wounds already cleaned and properly bandaged and the original watching her closely.

"Hm?" She asks, having been drawn from her thoughts; thoughts that were splashed in blood and ringing with hunger.

"Where were you just now?"

"Inside," Susannah answers after a moment and Elijah just nods.

"Inside yourself or inside the victims of the accident tonight?" He asks, his tone casual, striking Susannah yet again with his questioning tone.

She flinches, and Elijah got to clearly watch in horror as Susannah closed upon herself. Her mental barriers rising up to slam into place with an almost tangible sound. "I'm tired."

"I should make up a bed," Elijah says at last, turning to Susannah. "You need rest."

"I'm not sure I can sleep."

"You might surprise yourself."

Susannah sets her feet on the floor and stands, wobbling slightly before steadying out. "Oh, my mind has plenty of surprises for me these days," she says dryly. "They're just never any good."

The smile on her lips is one of pure bitterness.

* * *

 **Author's note- A lot of you have been asking about Klaus making his grand appearance, and it won't be too much longer. I just need to set down the base of Bonnie trusting "Nik" and unintentionally latching onto him before "Klaus" makes his move. Sorry if it seems excessive but once the story plays out hopefully you guys will see why it was necessary.**

 **This chapter contained a lot of symbolism. What do you guys think was trying to be represented within it?!**


	12. Chapter 12

When Bonnie finally awoke she knew immediately what her makeshift family had done. How could she not know? Susannah's magic had a distinct flare to it, a print that if you knew her well enough was easily recognizable.

Her first instinct was to scream.

But her throat burned and every beat of her heart sent a thrill of pain through her body. The aftershock of powerful magic fraying her every nerve.

"Bonnie-" Elena started her eyes watery (as if she were the one who had been betrayed). Bonnie scoffed and forced herself to stand on unsteady legs.

It is a hurt too many.

The girl was supposed to be her family. The family she was supposed to be able to rely on. The pain sinks into her bones, the ache of betrayal simmering close to the edge, making it hard for Bonnie to breathe evenly.

She was damaged. Pathetic. Even terrified. Because if she could recognize Susannah's magic...then Susannah would recognize hers. And what if, a sob swelled in her throat at the thought, her cousin decided to leave like everyone else.

"Caroline take me home."

The blonde immediately stepped forward, her eyes a deep blue, filled with worry and fear.

"Bonnie," Elena tried again, and Bonnie felt her head throb.

Elena's head is raised. So righteous and true, and Bonnie wants to rip her apart with her nails. She wants to rip all of her scars open and let her suffocate in chunks of blood and flesh. Bonnie wants to take Elena's once sweet heart and squeeze it until it bursts and all that remains is scraps.

"No." She said quietly, her voice shattered. She wrapped her hand around the tailsman. Feeling the power that ripped into her circling around it. Still, Bonnie wouldn't let it go. No matter how much it burned her hand.

Caroline wrapped her arms around Bonnie's waist. Her cold fingers digging uncomfortably into her skin. They are only a step away from the door when Bonnie digs her feet into the wood floors, refusing to move forward.

"There was no way Susannah would have given you this." The words dropped like a heavy stone in ocean water.

She hears Stefan shift. Elena suck in a breath. And Damon take a swig of whatever expensive alcohol he had on hand.

"How did you get it?"

There was silence. She could feel the trepidation like a hovering tornado.

"The owner of the house was gone-"

Bonnie laughed then. She burns gold and vibrant and it stings as much as it soothes. It seems she is destined to always be fighting, in one way or another. Her mind had always been her biggest enemy, constantly and furiously bombarding her with insecurities. Other adversaries materializing in different ways. Hidden in the confides of close friends, parading pretend words of care, meanwhile unmasking their selfish agendas at whim.

"You took advantage of my Gram's death. Used me as a weapon to target my cousin for _what? Getting too close to Elijah Mikaelson?"_

But no one had ever truly shown her what a war truly was. No one had the metal or lack of morals required to push her to the furthest point before she truly snapped. No one had ever looked her in the eye and played victim after carelessly stomping over her.

"You didn't see them-" Elena tried to protest, her lips quivering as her voice cracked. Always the victim. Always the one who needs saving. This betrayal, unfathomable yet completely predictable.

"You asked her to seduce him. To gather information because you were the one who rushed into a deal with someone we don't know and can't trust..." Bonnie feels herself shake. Feels her body want to give up on her. "Even if it was real- you had no right-"

She can feel her mouth twitch in the beginnings of a sneer.

"Bonnie," Caroline says quietly into her ear. "We need to leave...we can handle this later."

Bonnie let out a quiet sob against the girl. Her aching and weak body rebelling against her. She wants to scream, wants to fight, wants to yell. Her body won't let her.

They leave, and Bonnie can't remember the drive or even sitting down in the car. And when they arrive, Bonnie flinches wraping her arms around her grimoire as if it were protection, when she sees her father's car in the driveway. No. No. No. He can't be here. She needs to be alone. To breathe.

"You can stay at my house-"

"No!" Bonnie nearly shouts. "I mean, I just, I just need to be alone."

Caroline for once stayed quiet and helped her out of the car. Dropping the keys in Bonnie's palm. She hesitated, wondering if she could hug her frail best friend, if they were even best friends anymore. Caroline decided against it and merely sped off and away to cry.

And when Bonnie opened the door to her father waiting in the living room, she could immediately tell what he expected. She knew he expected her to run into his waiting arms, to look at him with starry, grateful eyes, like he was rescuing her. But this was obviously not the case, and then Bonnie looked down at the book in her hands. A sneer overtook his features.

"You're one of _them_ now?"

Bonnie felt her stomach twist. She couldn't do this. She didn't know what higher power thought she was capable of handling all this pain but whoever, whatever they were, they were wrong. So severely wrong. In a flash she feels everything all over again, sped up, all at once. Every joint hurts, every wound cuts open.

"What does it matter?"

"You know why it matters." Rudy hissed angry, Bonnie flinched when his fist met the table the sound crashing through her.

"Dad I-"

"I thought you were responsible Bonnie. Is this why your grades have been dropping?" He stalked towards her ripping the book from her grasp. "Why you can't bother to attend class?"

"It's not like that!" And she felt like she was burning, like the world was closing in on her.

"Then explain it to me? Explain why you are incapable of doing the simpilest of things. Why I have to find out through everyone else that my daughter is constantly surrounding herself with more and more trouble, why-"

"I get it, okay. I'm sorry," Bonnie broke and when she looked up the world was spinning. Sweat dripping down her face from her hairline. Swaying slightly, as she reached for the wall for stability.

"Not good enough."

And Bonnie promptly fell to the ground. Her body giving up on her completely. Like sand escaping clasped fingers.

* * *

 _When Bonnie awakens again, she is a ghost._

 _She tries to call for her dad, but she can't and when she reaches for her bedroom door, she finds herself passing through it._

 _That's okay though._

 _She wanders through the halls with a strange sense of calm, and everyone she sees ignores her. She doesn't really mind. It's easier this way-easier to escape when no one can touch her. Sometimes her feet don't quite touch the floor, other times she finds herself sinking into it. But it doesn't matter. She's through the doors and on her way to Shelia's garden._

 _The air is still and the night lingers in the breeze. Bonnie breathes in, and it goes right through her. As she breathes out, something flies free, and she can't help but feel lighter. The world around her is muted in color and lethargic, yet oddly enough sped up. The air holds no solid temperature and yet she shivers._

 _Grams is her personal ghost, so it's not surprising when Bonnie meets her on her journey. Her face is uncovered and her hair sleek and combed. The birth mark on her shoulder is lighter than it's ever been and she smiles when she sees her._

 _"Hello," Bonnie says quietly, her voice weak._

 _"Hello," Grams says back. "Your friends helped lead me to an earlier grave."_

 _Bonnie considers this. "I didn't want them to."_

 _Grams nods like that makes perfect sense, and maybe here it does._

 _"You are my family," Bonnie says. "Everything got worse after you left me."_

 _"I'm sorry," Grams replies. "I didn't want to leave."_

 _They are walking and maybe have been for a while before Bonnie remembers to ask: "What are you doing here?"_

 _Grams considers her question. Maybe there is no good answer. "The same thing as you, probably."_

 _"And what exactly is that?"_

 _"Going for a walk."_

 _It's a short walk around town, but it takes Bonnie through some painful places with old memories. She finds Nik, he tosses and turns. In his sleep he reaches for the other side of the bed, but finds it empty. She approaches his bed with a newfound confidence. He is older than she knows, but younger in his sleep._

 _"He can't feel you," Grams says. "Not while you are with me. It frightens him."_

 _"He hardly knows me," Bonnie says with a dry little laugh, but buries the image of Nik deep in her heart. One last look before day break. One last moment, untouched by her sorrow._

 _"He knows you," Grams counters, so surely, so confident that Bonnie believes it._

 _"Things change."_

 _"Things change. Not people. Not in any way that matters." But Bonnie feels different. She feels changed. Something in her had hardened and set like amber, trapping the best parts deep within. So despite what Grams says her experience tells her different, and Bonnie isn't sure what to believe._

 _They pass Elena, Matt, Caroline, and Tyler. They are deep in conversation, lively and animated, and in this dream-like state Bonnie can't quite keep up with the words flying around her. But their faces are open and beautiful and she wants nothing more to sit down with her friends and join them in conversation. Or to just sit at the corner and listen. She knows this isn't real, couldn't be. None of them have looked that young since before everything was ruined._

 _"You're not like them, you know," Grams says. She is standing behind Bonnie, in the shadows. "They're free. You're still stuck." Her voice is low and pitying. She twists a corner of her shirt in her fingers, watching as Caroline picks up a ball and throws it at Tyler. Laughter skims around them._

 _"When I was younger I thought I was like them," she admits._

 _Grams' face doesn't change. "You're not like them."_

 _Bonnie turns away, but no one watches her go. "I wanted to be," she says._

 _Grams laughs. "We want a lot of things."_

 _It haunts her._

 _Funny, shouldn't she be the one doing the haunting._

 _When they pass Susannah, her eyes wet with tears and her body shaking, sitting with Elijah, their chairs facing each other the lighting dim, it was oddly pleasant yet disconcerting to watch them interact, but she could see the closeness her friends feared. They were like one person having a conversation with themselves._

 _"We're all haunted," Grams says, she expects her to stop to watch them, instead she merely glances her eyes filling with adoration._

 _Elijah and Susannah exchange one of those long soul gazes that made Bonnie feel like the girl on the other side of the glass._

 _They pass a different version of Nik. He is oddly similar in the morning light. His face is handsome but lined, his body poised for battle, for war. War is a similar dance for him, she knows this in her soul. It's funny seeing him now, like seeing her past and future superimposed. If that is what Nik is. She doesn't want anything from him, yet she can feel herself gravitating towards him, nearing an inevitable collision. Neither of them will escape unscathed._

 _It is wrong of her. So wrong. Vampire's in general were wrong._

 _Grams is shaking her head._

 _"What?" Bonnie snaps, though she already knows._

 _"You keep making the same mistakes," she pauses thinking. "Not everything is so black and white."_

 _It all comes to her then._

 _And Grams looks at her. "Go back to yourself, my sweet girl."_

 _"I don't want to leave you." How the tables have turned, Bonnie thinks. Maybe she believes in this, or maybe she doesn't, but now Bonnie can't see past Elena, see past her pain, and maybe she doesn't have a future without some shadowy figure in her path._

 _But maybe he does._

 _Grams smiles at that and gently touches her for the first time, the touch doesn't go through her and all Bonnie can do is sob._

 _"You understand now."_

"Bonnie," she sees the fear on her father's face when she truly jolts awake, his hands, his whole body shaking. "You weren't breathing...your heart stopped-I...I.."

She breathed.

* * *

 _It seemed even her body understood it wasn't good enough._

 _"You're making me lose my mind," she told the unnamed man._

 _"I'm just giving you what I had left to spare," the man replied. "You know whatever was left after most of it was blown out through the back of my skull."_

 _"I don't want it," Susannah cried out._

 _"Then_ _stop being so good at picking up my pieces."_

 _"I_ _can't. You know I can't help that," Susannah nearly begged._

 _"Looks like you should see someone about that."_

"It really hurts," Susannah said sounding small, the cadence in her voice almost a laugh. It was the only words she could think to say. And there was no running from it; her body demanded the pain be felt.

Elijah drew the curtains and clicked off the light on the nightstand before helping Susannah to sit amongst the plentiful sheets and blankets that had been pulled back for her. Susannah felt like she could be swallowed up by them as she laid back and closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the dark surround her.

"Are you okay?"

A yes is at the tip of her tongue as Susannah tries to rearrange her features into something neutral. "I don't know. I don't think so."

He nods.

Susannah looks at him. "Are you okay?"

His hair is tousled, his suit wrinkled. Now that she is so close to him she can see something weighing on his back.

But Elijah carries his grief like he carries his secrets- tucked away in his marrow, in the most visceral parts of himself where no one can reach. Her grief is a different beast, it's fury more palpable. It hurls itself into the fray like an uncoordinated toddler.

"It's getting closer-" He stops himself, Susannah already knows what he means. Closer to the day he has to kill his brother. "But, this is who I am."

It would be so easy to reach out and take his hand but she can't. Instead she just keeps looking at him.

"No," she says, "It isn't."

A moment passes between them and Susannah aches.

"I want to help," Elijah had sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under the weight of the original. Susannah's stomach reeled from the sudden shift. She nearly sobbed in relief when he deposited the tiny white pills into Susannah's palm and handed her a cup of water, his hand lingering as Susannah took it from him and swallowed the pills greedily.

"Don't need your help...just need to close my eyes...just for a minute..." Susannah managed. Elijah gave her a long look. While his features didn't change, Susannah felt as though the late sunset of his eyes was piercing through her.

"You don't give me the impression that you actually believe that."

"Then maybe you should look a little closer, Mr. Mikaelson."

Elijah rested a flat palm on the middle of Susannah's 's back, heavy and protective, prompting Susannah to curl into the bend of Elijah's neck, her cheek making contact with cool skin.

"Oh, I intend to," was his somewhat snarky reply. Exhaling frustrated, Elijah glared at her, but it lacked any bite. Everything about him in this moment lacked any bite.

Susannah's stomach turned as she changed position. A rather pathetic sound escaped her throat. Elijah placed a gentle kiss to her temple, letting his lips linger there, breathing in the scent of the empath's hair, smoky and acrid with sweat. Hands found their way into soft brown curls, fingers gently weaving through. Susannah surrendered to the other's embrace, and for a moment they were both quiet, content to be still with each other.

"When's the last time you've slept?" Elijah's voice was firm but quiet as if talking to a frightened child. The words washed over Susannah as she thought about the answer. When had she last slept, really slept?

There were times when she dozed off for a few minutes, snapping back awake to find she was somewhere else. But actual sleep, in an actual bed? She couldn't recall.

"It doesn't matter..." Susannah spoke into Elijah's chest, her voice muffled. "This doesn't change anything, you know. I still don't like you." A lie, she knew Elijah knew that as well.

Elijah brought the blanket up around Susannah's shoulders. It was a tender and comforting gesture. He slowed his movements as to cause as little harm as possible. His hands were heavy, slow and soothing.

"You can only go so long without sleep before your body will rebel against you. You must rest."

She shakes her head then. And Elijah just sighs.

"I know you're afraid to retreat into your own mind-"

"I have no where else to go." Susannah whispered.

Even in her sleep her talent is a curse that follows at her heels. If she does not dream of being buried in death, stuck screaming in her own head in a coffin, then her consciousness fetters out connections. It's like a hunting dog that leads her by a noose around her neck.

"Where else would you like to go?" Elijah responded.

"I want to go home. I'd like to wash the blood off me and feed my dogs."

Elijah tilted his head then. "The blood is all gone, sweet Susannah."

"Doesn't feel like it is." She stares at the expanse that is Elijah's eyes (not into them, just at them) and wonders if there is such a thing as thawing what once had been frozen solid.

"You are allowing the dead to share space in your mind. Why are you allowing them into your bed?"

Susannah swallows, shaken by the force of his words. "I didn't invite them here," she says after a moment. "But they come all the same."

"What do you see?" He asks, and she knows he is asking about her empathy. She wonders if he can feel all the people she killed too, just by sheer closeness.

"Reflections," she replied. "Possibilities."

It made sense. A person was seldom a single entity after all. "You see yourself in the people you killed."

"I'm supposed to see just them."

"But you don't," Elijah said with a level stare, and only then does Susannah realize how quietly they have been talking. How intimate this moment truly is. The darkness presses in around them, and yet, she feels safe...protected. "Do you feel as if you are looking in a mirror?"

Her throat was so very dry, with shaky hands she reaches for the water. Elijah grabs the glass and helps her sit up, carefully bringing the water to her lips and letting it wash down her throat. She hates that she wishes it was blood instead. His blood. "I feel like I am a mirror."

She thought of how Elijah would have handled this. The man who had perfected self-control in order to protect himself, but Susannah had picked up enough tells. No one became that obsessively manicured in their image without reason.

 _"It is impossible for me to be hurt in the way I was before,"_ Elijah had said. The confession had seemed absurd then, like dead weight.

No, Elijah was not unexperienced in trauma, and life-and-death situations. He would be an academic in his emotional recovery of trauma, speaking frankly, outlining his feelings and wandering far too often into the abstract, as if everything was simply a matter of philosophy. Elijah would pull away, but not too much; would speak to those around him just enough to not seem to be avoiding his feelings. Eventually, Elijah would shed away mourning and reclaim his life. Having faced death, Elijah would rise from the cracked earth of the underworld.

Elijah Mikaelson would survive.

Maybe that's why she wanted to stay. He would survive while Susannah rotted away. A living corpse.

"Why don't you sleep in my bed?"

Susannah looks at him, a soft blush growing on her cheeks. There is no eye contact- but at the same time Elijah can feel himself being studied.

There is hostility in Susannah's tone when she speaks again. "Is that a sexual invitation?"

So very direct. It's been hanging in the air between them for some time, and here it is. He was wondering how long it would take Susannah to ask.

"Do you feel that your state of mind tonight is well suited to addressing sexual invitations?"

It's not a no, not in any way an attempt at denying his own intentions.

He knows Susannah would be eager, he could smell her arousal now, and yet it comes with a sense of uneasiness. He cannot shake this feeling that if he had sex with Susannah right at this moment, he would be used like a tool- not deliberately or maliciously, no. But used nonetheless.

She reaches for him, her hand on his jaw like hot candle wax. He knew Susannah was powerful, it was in her casual arrogance. But to feel it shooting over his skin sends a wave of euphoria through him, her magic seeping into the air carrying with it a release of aphrodisiac pheromones. Her thumb soothing over his skin in circles, before sliding over his bottom lip.

"Are you attempting to clutch onto me for balance, sweetness?"

Her hand falls away immediately. It's a recurring theme in Susannah's life, really. Using those around her for balance but always being too much. She was too much for Qetsiyah, too much to save Bonnie, too much to warn Kion to stay away from her. Too much to save herself from the monsters under her bed, in her bedroom, and now in her head.

Susannah scowls, her lip playing between her teeth. He had no words in any language to describe the soft face that peered up at him, her beauty being something that only came to life beneath the brushstrokes of the old masters.

"You think having sex with me will steady you." Elijah rolls the thought around his mind. "While the suggestion is- tempting," Elijah breathes, "It also seems rather reckless. And dangerous."

"But that's the point, isn't it, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Elijah's face doesn't move but she can tell he is affected. The tension in his body coiled and locked. "You terrible thing, always testing my patience."

The lights flickered. "I'm sorry," she admits, although it is false.

"This isn't a sexual invitation," Elijah says, his tone easy, without regret. What he wants from Susannah is trust. Pushing her into intimacies she might later resent is not going to get him that, and any hunter will tell you that patience is what downs the prey.

Confusion glimmered in her eyes. "I thought maybe that's why you allowed me to stay."

"Have I done something to give you that impression?"

Men always want something, she thinks. They want her crown, her body, her love.

"You helped me. Not a lot of people do that."

Elijah shook his head. "Come to bed with me. I will make sure your nightmares don't overwhelm you."

Susannah nods her consent and Elijah gently eases her into his arms, and Susannah curses herself for starting to love the way being held felt. And she quickly fell asleep to all the words not being said.

* * *

Susannah is what Elijah would call an erratic healer.

It would be easy if she simply stuck to a path of emotional surges and expelled it, but she goes through phases, phases that are more than a little difficult to contain. It isn't often that the original finds himself confused or unsure. The ancient vampire often won't invest himself in doing anything unless he has explicit control over everything. But Susannah pushes and pushes at his every boundary, and in some odd way he doesn't want her to stop.

"You know if you drink enough vodka it taste's like love," Susannah slurs, a wide smile filling her cheeks, exposing her dimples. She stumbles about and it is nearly adorable.

She had already laughed, cried, yelled, and then laughed again. In that order.

"You drank your way well through over six hundred dollars worth of wine before eleven in the morning."

"What the bottles they have at the grocery store for $11.59 not to your taste?"

Elijah couldn't help but wince at that statement.

And Susannah laughed openly, warmly in fact.

"Traitorous of you to laugh, sweetness." Elijah says as he slides over and plucks the cup out of her hand, watching her sway to the side.

"You..." she says. He waits. Sometimes thoughts can take a while to travel out into the world. He knows this, better than most. Despite being drunk, Susannah's eyes hold a precise gleam to them, defiant and unyielding, with the type of intelligence Athena is renowned for having. The honey gold color is hardened and tempered, too weary for someone as young looking as she. "You can't stop me!"

"Yes I can."

"You can't tell me what to do, Elijah," She pouts, adorable and graceless in a way Susannah never allowed herself to be around him. It's pure manipulation, deflection, but it's effective. There's something in the way Susannah's accent curls around the words that make them nearly suggestive.

"Feeling uncooperative today?"

"Feeling uncooperative everyday."

"Come here, Susannah."

The girl glares at him. "Do your legs not work or something? Why don't you come over here?"

She blinks and he is standing right in front of her.

Did she just mouth off to an original? Thankfully the Mikaelson seems more amused then offended.

"Such a clever tongue you have."

His body taunted her, as he slid into her direct line of sight. "You are in my home. Drinking my liquor. Wearing my clothes. Are you sure I hold no authority here, Susannah?"

"I can easily take your clothes off-"

Elijah steps into her bubble of space, and God he was actually amused by this (that bastard), his presence cutting her voice off. He feels the points of his canines with his tongue and narrowly resists biting at his own mouth hard enough to bleed. He wants to shake her, pin her down by the throat until she's forced to accept her worth. To yield to the vision Elijah sees within the blurring outlines of her shape. Susannah's potential solidified.

"Tell me, how much more enervated does Susannah Bennett need to be before her mouth catches up to her body and ceases for a little while?"

"You're an asshole."

"And you're not particularly well-mannered."

* * *

"I'm sorry you had to deal with my...episode last night. I'm guessing it wasn't the most pleasant thing to witness," Her voice was for some reason unexpectedly pretty, something that twisted the harshness of words into something akin to liquid gold.

"Merely an insight into your mind. Don't apologize."

She tapped a random pattern down on the table before her, waiting desperately for something to give.

"I killed them all," her voice is icy, as her eyes dart to his. "Because for some reason, I cannot yet to fathom, my descendant thought it was wise to break into my head."

She stands and moves to the bookshelves, her hands freely touching Elijah's things. He finds it to be a pleasant thing to witness, seeing Susannah comfortable enough to move around his territory openly.

"You relied on baser survival instincts in a situation where there was little other option."

His voice is scientific, impersonal, but his eyes look impossibly fond. Like a man who's found something he's so desperately been searching for and yet has no idea what to do with it.

"You always have an explanation for everything, don't you?" It comes out like an accusation.

He sat in the way that seemed most comfortable for him. Hands clasped in his lap, expression blank. "Years ago, I was a psychiatrist."

"Oh God, _that explains it_. I hate psychiatrists."

"Have you had therapy before?"

"Oh yes, several times."

"How did it work out for you?" Elijah asked, although he had a pretty good idea of the answer.

Susannah doesn't have to look at Elijah to know he is intrigued. He always is when Susannah mentions her past. Perhaps he is imagining what she would have been like when she first was released from the coffin.

A scrappy, wild curled girl in silk.

And as always thoughts of the coffin lead to thoughts of _before_ the coffin. When she was just a girl, a girl who hadn't mastered ancient magic. A girl alone. A girl who hadn't yet learned that somewhere out in the world, a man named Elijah Mikaelson would exist.

The thought is almost funny, now.

"Not too well. One of them told me I kept anticipating her questions so I knew how to avoid them." She admitted and then rubbed her ear. Elijah's eyes tracking the motion, the way a bird of prey tracked a mouse in a field. "I suppose I just don't have the patience for it. They want to talk you round and round until they realize what's wrong with you."

Her eyes jump to his face, but instead of emptiness she sees something _old_ that echoes in the darkness of his eyes. Her breath cuts short, she forgets he isn't like her. He lived most of those thousand years, he wasn't in a coffin. He survived.

"Stealing into other minds has taught you to fortify your own."

Susannah gave a little laugh at that and Elijah wondered how compulsion would affect her. Did her empathy make her vulnerable? Or did it make her dangerous?

"What are your survival instincts, Elijah?"

He smiles, polite and pleasant that was a little cold if one knew what to look for.

"I suppose not all that different from yours."

* * *

Elijah's domain is his study.

Susannah enters and leaves at whim but typically changes nothing. Does no more than watching and waiting, taking what he offers.

And if it were anyone else, Elijah would be quite bothered by the rudeness of just walking into his private space without permission. But Susannah was often exempt from any and all rules.

It was profoundly pleasing to witness her, light fingers brushing over Elijah's books, clearly enjoying herself.

Unafraid and perfectly at home, while he watched from a respectful distance.

He watched as she looked around before eventually grabbing one of his journals right off of a shelf, and then plopped down right in Elijah's chair as if she owned it.

She didn't even acknowledge the original, despite the fact that she had to know he was there, and she leaned back and propped her feet up on the desk as she opened the journal to a random page in the middle.

"Find some interesting reading?" Elijah asked politely.

Susannah peered up over the top of the book, adopting a surprised look as if she'd somehow missed Elijah following her into the room.

"No, actually. Dull as dirt," she said lightly.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, but didn't think that there was anything to say in response to that, at least not if he didn't want to sound particularly childish. Something that Susannah didn't seem to have any problem with appearing as. "For some reason, all the deepest, innermost thoughts of Elijah Mikaelson don't register as anything particularly worth reading."

"Perhaps I don't keep my 'deepest, innermost thoughts' in a place that any nosey person could read them," Elijah suggested.

Susannah just shrugged. "Perhaps. Or maybe you're just a very boring person, Mikaelson."

Then she grinned, and Elijah wondered why he was so fascinated by someone who found it so fun to blatantly insult him.

Then Susannah hopped to her feet, leaving the chair at a strange angle, and dirt smudges on the top of the desk. She dropped the journal down, not caring when it landed in a way that crinkled several of the pages. She walked past Elijah, and didn't speak again until she was in the doorway, her back towards him.

"So, what's for dinner?" Then she kept walking, without even giving Elijah a chance to respond.

* * *

Elijah pesters Susannah probably more than is healthy- after all he's seen what she is capable of, and more importantly what she can survive, for all she tries to hide it, to contain it, she is dangerous.

But, Elijah also knows that Susannah's nightmares haven't gotten any better. They haven't gotten any worse either, as far as he knows, but they haven't stopped. They probably won't stop. He has an idea of what she dreams about and if he is right, it's not the kind of thing you get over.

She isn't like Niklaus, who'll keep all of his bitterness and anger and fear to himself because only he can stand to face his own problems, and she isn't like Rebekah, who's so prone to emotion in general that things just sort of...spill out of her.

So he brings it up in probably the least tactful way, which he thinks Susannah would appreciate, if she were, you know, her regular self.

"Tell me of your nightmares."

Susannah levels him a look that he thinks is usually reserved for the mentally handicapped and the tragically misinformed. Elijah resolutely stands his ground (so to speak), dropping down onto the bed across Susannah.

She purses her lips. "No."

"No?"

"No."

And that is, apparently, that.

Except Elijah can't let it be that.

"When you dream of the victims, are you watching them die from a distance, or are your hands wrapped around their necks?" It was a simple, matter-of-fact question, stated with such calmness that it took her completely off guard. It was meant to prod, to sting a little to push her into action.

"What makes you think I dream of death?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

"The shadows under your eyes tell me you have trouble sleeping; there are indents in your palm from your nails breaking flesh, and there is an odd sort of bruise on the back of your neck to your shoulder. I assume that's from you falling out of bed?"

"And?"

"Those are not signs of a restful sleep, pure thoughts can't be what's haunting you."

"My thoughts aren't generally pure, even when I'm awake," Susannah grounded out, head ducked. She itched to tug her arms around herself and curl away, out of sight, to hide how her own body had betrayed her.

"Nor mine," Elijah replied smoothly, his eyes glinting in the light. "How are your barriers?"

"Sturdier than ever."

"And new ones rise with every nightmare that climbs behind your eyes?"

"Undoubtedly," she responds not missing a beat, never missing a beat. "Although," she drawls sarcastically. " _I had no idea such shadows hid in the depths of my soul. my winsome romanticism has intensified yet again_."

* * *

"Why did you fix my jacket?" Susannah blurted.

"You ask that as if you are surprised."

"You're so fastidious about your clothes. I'd have thought you'd throw it out as soon as you got the chance. But you fixed it, why?"

"Because you like it. Because it makes you comfortable."

"But you said you wanted me to be uncomfortable. You said you wanted to push me. You said it made me more myself."

"Doesn't it?"

"I don't understand why you fixed my jacket."

"Because you were asleep and I was awake and I wanted to do something for you."

The look on Elijah's face scalds her.

* * *

"How are you?"

"Given what I was expecting, the day itself has been average," she finally says after a long pause. "I am exhausted though." Susannah feels Elijah step closer to her. "It was the nightmares yes, but-"

Elijah is still watching her, there is no judgement on his face. "Does it get better?" he asks.

She wants to laugh and she's about to cry, so she let's out a hysterical combination of both. "I don't know."

He can't tell if he's done anything wrong, because she's not looking at him. She's looking, but she's doing her best not to see.

She's wearing the clothes he bought her.

"I see you like the sleepwear. Pure mulberry silk. I took the liberty of purchasing a piece you would be comfortable in, while at the same time tailoring to my asthetics."

Susannah figured sass really is good for the soul. "Your asthetics are ostentatious."

Elijah's nostrils flared, a clear sign she was getting under his skin. Good. "I would be catious with your misbehavior if I where you."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes, very much so."

Susannah smiled at him.

"I stole one of your blankets too," Susannah mumbled brushing her hair away from her face.

She had one of Elijah's imported angora wool afghans wrapped around her. The edge was trailing on the floor. The sweat in her hair had probably dripped onto it, air-drying on the fine embroidery. It should have annoyed Elijah, but it didn't. Instead he found it endearing: Susannah in a wooly cocoon.

"It's yours," he said easily, then went to sit down on the other end of the couch, patting the lump that was Susannah's feet. " _Everything I have could be yours. If you like_."

Susannah chuckled at that, looking up with blurry eyes. "I guess it doesn't matter if I misbehave, does it?"

* * *

A part of Susannah wonders if Elijah enjoys the control aspect to her healing. It makes her wonder if that's why he tried psychiatry. He gets to remain unruffled in the face of another's absolute breakdown.

It's not a charitable notion to apply to the Mikaelson, but somehow she thinks its valid.

Elijah had gone off, leaving her alone in his place of stay, when she decides to call him.

"Susannah," he says, sounding mildly surprised – perhaps because it's still early, or because she's never been the one to call first. "I left before I got to ask, how are you today?"

"I have a headache."

"Not too well then, I take it."

"I'm okay." She clears her throat, hearing how hoarse it is from sleep and disuse. "You enjoy the idea of being in absolute control. Wielding your composure over others. That's why you were a psychiatrist."

"You call to accuse me?" Elijah's tone doesn't change, but there's the slightest hint of darkness there that Susannah finds herself intrigued by. It's her job to chase after danger after all.

"No," she says, "but I want something to wield over your head too."

"I see." Elijah lets out an amused huff. The trepidation bleeds from his voice. "Your headache must not be too bad, if you're still capable of such advanced scheming."

"Bad enough. Headaches don't alter your thinking that dramatically."

"I know a few who would argue they do."

"Excuses."

"You wouldn't like an excuse, would you sweetness? You keep yourself on such a short leash."

"So do you. Or does blood thirst alter your sense of self? Turn you into something you're not?"

"No," Elijah says without a trace of uncertainty, which is what Susannah had counted on.

"Then we're on the same page." Susannah sucks her lower lip into her mouth, feeling a reluctant sense of intrigue. Speaking to Elijah is vastly different from speaking to anyone else – it's finding her way through a maze while it's being constructed.

"I have to go," she says. "Before this goes from unorthodox to unprofessional. Was that how it went?"

Elijah sounds amused again. "You disagree with my distinction."

"Obviously. We've established a common point of interest though: control. You enjoy being in control, I enjoy knowing this about you since awareness automatically grants me a measure of control over our interactions."

"How will you use this to your advantage, I wonder."

"I guess we'll see." Susannah starts stretching herself out on his bed. "I'm hanging up now."

"Shall I expect another call?"

"Depends how badly my headache messes up my thinking, I suppose. Goodbye, Mikaelson."

Susannah can picture Elijah's amused smile as she hangs up.

* * *

It was warm and Susannah was once again nursing a healthy amount of Elijah's alcohol.

He sighed glancing at the cabinet, wondering if he would genuinely have to get a lock for it. (Not that it would stop her.)

She sits on the floor and when Elijah put a hand down to help her up, she used her magic to pull him down with her.

"That was predictable," Susannah sassed. "How did you not see that coming? Honestly, I expect better from you." And when Elijah doesn't reply immediately, she grins at him. "What, nothing to say for yourself? Now that is unexpected."

"I'll do better next time," said Elijah. "When I'm less distracted."

Susannah smiled and leaned into whisper. "Do I distract you?"

"Always."

* * *

"Don't tell me you are jealous, Jonas," Elijah said coolly, his lips twisting into a contemptuous smile.

"Of all the words at our disposal that could be used to describe what I am," he begins cautiously. "That...is not what I would choose."

His grin fell from his lips as he ran his tongue along his upper teeth as he regarded his...acquaintance. "You are afraid for her."

Jonas lifted his chin just a fraction but made no move to confirm or negate his theory; Elijah could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"I am going to make this very simple for you, Dr. Martin," he began his voice deathly quiet as he leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. "Whatever it is you're thinking of trying- don't."

"I am not going to try anything," he responded.

"A lie by omission is still a lie," Elijah clipped, rising from his seat. "And I shouldn't need to say it, but I won't tolerate it from you. Susannah is mine. Any efforts to remove her from my life will not be taken lightly."

"Understood," Jonas said quietly. "I only wonder if she knows she's yours."

* * *

It is the seventh night of Susannah staying with him, and he sleeps longer than he realizes, but the next thing he knows is that Susannah's voice is a harsh scared whisper reaching to him in the darkness, and his eyes blink open under her scrutiny, with an almost animal like awareness of being watched.

"What's wrong?" he whispers back, and he doesn't know how and certainly hasn't stopped to think about it, but suddenly he's in bed with her, and she's in his arms. She melts into him, and suddenly this is so easy, suddenly he can smell her hair. She is so small in his embrace.

"I want to trust you, Elijah," Susannah murmured. "Can I?"

Elijah lets his eyes linger on the pulse in Susannah's throat and the bead of sweat trickling down her temple, the sheen that lay over feverish skin and dampness clinging to curls. "I believe all strong friendships are based on trust. If we are to be friends I would like there to be trust."

Susannah hummed, a small smile twisting her lips. "You are being vague. _Can I trust you?_ "

"Yes."

Susannah tilted her head to the side, her eyes quickly drifting away to the crack of darkness leaking in through the blinds of the windows.

"I heard a noise- somebody at the door."

She is still half asleep, this lovely girl, and as her breathing stills, he can almost hear her start to doubt herself. There is no surprise in her face as she blinks her way around his room. The thought occurs to him that this is a regular night time occurrence. Selfishly, he wonders if his name is on her lips too.

"I'm sorry," she says now. "I must have been dreaming." He feels her pull away from him in embarrassment. He doesn't want to let her go.

"It's okay," he says quietly. "I have those dreams too."

And he does. He wakes up in the middle of the night. He dreams of darkness. Of helplessness. He dreams of Susannah dying in battle, of her blood staining his hand. He always wakes up clutching empty air.

"You do?" She whispers back, and she is looking at him like she hasn't seen him in so very long. Her eyes are wide.

It's almost an accident, the way his lips brush her forehead, but she doesn't stiffen up. Doesn't recoil. There is a moment where he's not sure what to say, where he thinks that if he says the right thing, anything, that somehow it'll magically fix everything. But this is real life, not some child's bedtime story, and in this real life, the doorknob starts rattling.

Susannah flinches and Elijah tenses. Whoever is on the other side of that door doesn't breath, doesn't have a heart that beats. Her fingers wrap around his bicep.

"Who's there," she calls out, and he is so proud of the way her voice doesn't waver, and the way it doesn't lose that regal tone.

When he opens the door no one is there, just a scent. A scent that causes his muscles to tense.

 _Niklaus was here._


	13. Chapter 13

"Hi."

She gave a meaningful half smile.

"Hi."

They're on opposite ends of the kitchen, in some sort of weird imitation of a western draw. No telling who will shoot first.

They've been fighting. Well, maybe. Susannah isn't really sure. It feels like a silent crash, invisible, unfeeling, and numbing. A cold war.

She wanted to laugh but had a feeling that wouldn't be taken very well.

"We're getting dinner," Susannah finally says with a dazzling smile. They have avoided this confrontation for too long. It had been three days since Susannah snuck away from Elijah's place in the dead of the night. Deliberately being elusive, avoiding his calls, his messages, him entirely. It had been ten days since the...bloodbath.

The young witch gives Susannah a weary look. "And if I have plans?" Bonnie asks, jaw jutting out.

"We're getting dinner."

The glare Bonnie turns on Susannah burns, but she's dealt with worse.

* * *

The Mystic Grill is surprisingly lacking it's usual bolster of people, immediately Susannah's shoulders relax. She had wanted to do this in public, just in case things get out of hand, the burden of other's eyes to keep them in check. They especially need that, Bonnie and Susannah...they're too similar for their own good, and it manifests into a very volatile relationship.

"I've been wanting to talk to you."

"I...I have mixed feelings about that." It was fairly apparent that Susannah knew more about Bonnie, then Bonnie knew about Susannah. She always knew how to share just enough information to give the illusion of intimacy without actually being intimate. And Bonnie only recently found the ability to distinguish between the two.

The thought of Susannah willingly sharing anything makes her want to squirm. But with Susannah's sharp eyes dissecting every movement, she instead forced herself still.

Sinking into her seat, her ankles tucked together, her palms pressed between her thighs, shoulders curled in.

"Are you okay?" Susannah asks even though the answer is clear.

"Are you?"

"Some bad things happened."

"Yes, they did."

A heartbeat.

Susannah twisted the ends of one of her curls. "I thought about getting us some drinks-"

"But?" Bonnie asks in her sudden silence, her head cocked to one side. They are sitting in a dark corner booth, hidden and pulled away from everyone. Still the girls keep their voices pitched low.

"But I think we owe it to each other to be sober," she said quietly, staring out the window at the light from the streetlight dropping eerie shadows across the pavement.

When Susannah faces her again, her face is so utterly blank, anything from barely contained murderous intent, to mild gastronomical discomfort, or a slight, passing headache borne from annoyance, or even extreme boredom, the kind that would set random items on fire just to see how people react- could have been passing through her.

"I'm not mad."

Bonnie lets out a short laugh. "No," she agrees. "But you are _something_."

"Yeah...I'm something."

Bonnie can't help but feel caged. Yes, it's a spacious building, yet everything around her feels too small and confined; as if the surroundings are shrinking or Bonnie herself is swelling and bloating with the weight of everything that broiling inside her head. Like Alice in Mr. Carrol's celebrated book, plummeting down the rabbit hole. We're all mad here.

"It's not your fault and I- I understand why it happened."

Running a hand over her face and forcing a smile, purely for Bonnie's sake, she takes a sip of water.

"Of course you understand. You always understand. I bet a part of you even understands why the Salvatore's and Elena did what they did."

"It isn't a complicated mindset," Susannah calls mildly. "They want to see themselves as the gatekeepers to all of our actions. When we don't do something they like, they want us to answer for it. It's archaic and born out of pure ignorance."

When Bonnie doesn't say anything, her eyes focused outside the window, her lips pressed into a thin line, Susannah hesitantly continues.

"I'm not mad, Bonnie," she reiterates, a strange inflection entering her voice. "But there are certain things I can't abide."

Susannah looked immortal somehow, ageless and perfectly formed, dizzying to the mortal senses.

"Do you have any idea how potentially dangerous what you did was, Bonnie? Even if you had managed to correctly execute it and aim it towards the right person, you aren't advanced enough to know how to hide your magical signature. Did you not think, if you did the spell, whoever it was targeted towards wouldn't feel violated? Wouldn't want to retaliate, wouldn't want to-"

Her voice cut off when Bonnie reached over and grabbed her hand. And only in her steady one, did Susannah realize her's was shaking.

" _I just wanted to help my friends_ ," Bonnie whispers brokenly.

The empath's eyes shined now, not in pleasure, or happiness, or excitement. But they shined with water, nonetheless.

"My magic didn't hesitate. The second it sensed a threat it lashed out in the most brutal of ways. It just kept lashing out, until there was one car. Then another, and another, and another...all until the pain stopped."

There's something in the empath's voice that makes her heart hurt.

What else could she do? Bonnie knew Susannah's senses had been alive in that moment, coupled with adrenaline and her skills as an empath. Naturally, there was no hesitation on her part because by then Susannah's instincts would take over.

"And despite the fire, and the blood, and all the lives...I-I just hoped that I didn't hurt you half as bad as I hurt those other people," her eyes fall shut. She couldn't look at Bonnie anymore, face her compassion, her goodness.

It takes a second for Bonnie to gather herself, she focuses on the ceiling, counting the long wooden planks. She thinks, if she counts them all then maybe this will all disappear and have been a bad dream. But when she reaches thirty-six, she knows this isn't a bad dream but a bad life.

"It just happened on instinct, Susannah. You didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Bonnie harshly wipes at her cheeks. She thinks of souls. The young witch has no idea what one would look like. Part of her, thinks they would be bright, too powerful to comprehend, but undoubtedly beautiful. Grams, she thinks, would have a soul like that.

There's another part of her that isn't so sure. There's a part of her, tainted with blood and grief, a part that thinks human souls would be hideous. That part of her thinks of putrid, foul distortions of sin and hate.

She imagines that every light soul snuffed out but the spell she did, that lead to Susannah reacting, darkened her soul.

"Some people have a flight instinct, or at least a freeze one," the girl helplessly points out. She doesn't lift her eyes off the table, and exhaustion is clear in the line of her shoulders.

"Well you have a fight one, but all that means is you are better at survival." Bonnie's hands tap on her thighs, restlessly. "We were made into weapons and pointed at each other..." Bonnie's kind of desperate for things to be different from the truth.

"It doesn't matter now, I suppose." Susannah crossed her arms and primly sat up. Any emotion sheltered, carefully, away from Bonnie's eyes.

"You can't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pull that bitchy routine. Like none of anything we just talked about matters."

She responded, too late. "It doesn't." Self-consciously adverting her eyes. She glanced at Bonnie suddenly and bristled. Whatever Susannah sees in Bonnie causes her to shift from hesitant and sad to something hard and...defensive.

The young witch takes a breath. She dosen't want to say the wrong thing again.

"S, you are the strongest person I know. Hands down, no competition. So please...please don't do this."

"You do know you exist, right?" Susannah deflects, her body tense as if in preparation to run.

"You dealt with-"

"Ignored it. Buried it. Hid from it as long as I could. Haven't dealt with anything." Gazing at her cousin, glints of light reflects from the moisture in her dark curly hair, fiery-butterscotch eyes lost and confused. Adrift in remembrance and emotions that Bonnie only had the barest frame of mind to identify. "You have more faith in me than I do right now."

"I've always been the more emotionally capable of the two of us."

"If by emotionally capable you mean capable of crying on demand, then yeah."

Bonnie huffed. "You weren't complaining when my tears convinced that security guard to let us go after we started a fire in the mall food court."

And finally the tension in Susannah loosened, and she laughed. It was strained and nowhere near as bright as her full one, but it was there so Bonnie considered that a win.

The silence between them gives them time to gather themselves back together. Just enough to get through this conversation. To clear the air. To loosen the tension in the minefield of insecurities raging inside of them.

"So..."

Bonnie waits, silent and expectant.

"What will you do about Elena?" Susannah tries to keep her voice light, but her eyes are sharp and the darkness behind them endless.

"I know you want to protect me," Bonnie drops her gaze. "I love that you get angry on my behalf, and you have no idea how much I appreciate you willing to go into battle for me, but I'm only going to ask you this once, Susannah. Let me handle what is left of my relationship with Elena."

Susannah nearly growled at that, a ring of glowing gold around each iris, and the angry hum of electricity in the air.

"If it falls apart then it will. It won't be pretty, but I will survive it. I just need you to stay out of it."

Her nails dug into her palm, leaving small crescent shaped marks. "I could-"

"No." Bonnie sighed, "They would try to force you into helping them...and you would react badly. You always do when anyone tries to make you do anything."

"Elijah isn't on anyone's side," Susannah replied. But Susannah couldn't even fully agree with that assessment. She was wearing Elijah's jacket, Elijah's words floating through her head, and Elijah's scent. She might not understand the originals true motivations, but it sure felt like he picked a side.

"Susannah-"

Blind uncertainty welled in her eyes. "It's not like what you are thinking Bonnie."

"Then what is it like."

Susannah swallowed, as the young witch teased out her face, trying to find a source to the empath's discomfort."Elijah Mikaelson is tolerable."

"Is that all he is?"

"This all has nothing to do with him," Susannah muttered.

Bonnie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, S. Nothing you ever do has anything to do with Elijah. Whatever you say."

"I'm not going to run into the sunset with him because I think he tolerable..."

Bonnie's eyes sharpened, rolling over her cousin. "Then what are you doing?"

"It's not what I'm doing," she said wryly. "It's what he might do."

"You think he might hurt you?" Bonnie demanded, her back straightening with sudden fire.

Susannah thought of Elijah in the kitchen, his uncertainty as he watched her, so unlike himself, infected with a tenderness and softness, one he didn't quite know how to circumvent.

"I think this is going to end badly, one way or another," she admitted. "It's probably best you get out of the line of fire."

Bonnie laughed. "I wouldn't leave you in the fire to get myself out." The coin Bonnie had carried suddenly felt so very heavy in her pocket. And for the first time since the dreams with Nik had started, Bonnie wanted to share. She wanted to ask if it could possibly be as real as it feels.

But instead she bit her tongue.

"Why don't you just let yourself be free and independent and powerful? So much so, Elena Gilbert and her precious followers won't be able to think about you and not burn."

Bonnie eyebrow hitches upwards at the pure vehemence in her tone.

"I think I would be terrified of you, if you weren't my family."

Susannah grinned at that.

* * *

It's quite simple really.

He'd had a horrible fucking week.

Of course, being Elijah Mikaelson, he wouldn't describe it in such a way-he's probably use more academic terms, like egregious or unpropitious, but anyone else would've said it how it was: fucking tragic.

Susannah had been avoiding him.

He considered himself a patient man, truly, but she was testing his ability to remain apathetic. Elijah was detached, not defined by his trauma. But even he couldn't stop the way his fingers twitched when Susannah crowded into his space. Or the way his eyes traced the girls movements around a room, a predator watching as a rival circled their territory.

Normally that fact wouldn't have bothered him as deeply as it did if he didn't think she was going to do something altogtether self-destructive and hazardous.

On top of that, he couldnt find a single lead on Niklaus. It was almost as if he wasn't in Mystic Falls. Which Elijah certainly couldn't believe.

He trusted his instincts.

His instincts said his brother was near. Lurking about and probably gathering information.

Things were spiralling out of his control, his fingers tightened into a fist. His dark eyes wandering around his immediate area. He needed to get a handle on something or else he would go mad.

Elijah drains the last of his glass and barely tastes it. It's a shame that the wine is wonderful, truly, but Elijah is simply in no mood to enjoy it. He has too much energy fizzling through his nerves, excess electricity.

Picking up the invitation...the memorial for all the victims lost in the car accident, his finger running along the gold lettering on the cheap cardstock.

 _Join us as we immortalize those lost in our hearts and minds._

* * *

Now that Bonnie was finally alone she could think.

Her body hurt in odd ways and her headache never seemed to fade.

Everything seemed so...fabricated.

Until, well, it wasn't.

Her father had once again left and she was alone, it seemed even in her death (no matter for how long) wasn't enough to make him love her. And Susannah needed her solitary after the discussion the two of them had the night before.

She had been sitting in silence, hungry but unable to eat, when a knock broke her out of the darkness in her mind.

Dragging her self towards the door and roughly pulling it open, she fully expected Caroline to be there with her wide blue begging eyes, instead it was no one? When she looked to the floor of her porch all that was there was a single rose.

Perfectly in bloom, beautiful in every way.

She, for so long, had felt like a chess piece being moved, in transition. In her mind she is both who she was and who she feels she will be, and part of her wishes she could just be pulled back to her old, uncomplicated square.

A small hesitant smile had curved her lips, one that didn't leave her face, even as she pinned the rose to her black dress and walked out the door.

The rose reminds her of Nik, and for a second...she doesn't mind complicated.

* * *

She hated this.

The ceremony was beautiful and somber, contrasting entirely to the nervous energy that bloomed inside Susannah.

Bonnie floats through the doors, she sits alone and so does Susannah, neither of them trying to talk to one another. Both needing their space to sort out their personal frustrations before attempting to talk once again.

"I'm fine," she whispers to herself; and the sensation of reassurance is rather an odd one: as if there is a fearful, furtive part of herself that inhabits it's own separate space and requires safety and soothing at the hands of a more competent and self-assured aspect.

Susannah isn't even sure which one of these personas she identifies with the most, which one is closest to her true self. In fact if anything they seem exist in an uneasy state of conflict, manipulating and discouraging one another. They skim around in her subconscious like shadows, weightless and incorporeal and hard to pin down...

Her golden eyes dart around the room.

It feels like everyone can see the monster on her skin.

The Salvatore's and Elena try to avoid her inspection, nearly hiding. Susannah gives a kind incline of her head when her eyes meet Liz's and Caroline's. She quickly skipped over Elijah, and shot a soft smile at Matt.

The others however...

Women and men dressed to outshine each other, flaunting their wealth. It seemed even in matters such as death, elitism was still prevalent.

She nearly laughs until Carol Lockwood slides into her personal space with all the obnoxiousness of a ruler.

"Ms. Bennett," she starts pleasantly enough, her eyes however betray her disdain. "It's odd to see you out and about, especially since your move to that... _little_ farmhouse in the middle of nowhere." Her eyes jump over to where Elijah stands, entertaining guests with a suave and politeness that effortlessly hid his true nature.

"Don't worry," Susannah murmurs with a false smile. "It won't be a common occurence."

Carol laughed, the sound almost being pulled from her throat. "May I ask why you hide yourself away?"

Susannah bit into a candied almond, and was pleased with herself for displaying no sign of insult or discomfort whatsoever. "What a curious question," she said, pleasantly. "The same could be asked of Mr. Mikaelson."

Carol's expression was claimed by a wide and unconvincing smile. "Oh darling, you needn't be so evasive," she said. "I meant no offense, of course. Is it such a curious question? After all, men like to have their dalliances, whereas we do not have such license." She placed her hand briefly over the younger woman's, as if in show of solidarity. "And it seems you had your share of advantageous matches, hmm?"

"I think my mother is attempting to pay a compliment on your eligibility," said Tyler, overhearing his mother, with a wry smile. It was no such thing, of course, but Susannah did appreciate his attempt at lightening the mood.

"Yes, I suppose," Carol continued on, ignoring a look from him. "It must be very pleasant to enjoy the attention of multiple men. You can't be blamed for wanting to lengthen their affection for a little while longer."

She gave Susannah's hand one final pat and retracted it, drawing up her handkerchief to lightly dab at her slightly smirking lips. "Do not worry. We all grow out of such phases."

Susannah peered at her for a moment. The unsolicited inspection sending a ray of annoyance through her.

She caught Elijah's eyes, empty and stone cold.

 _Fuck Carol and her stupid fucking midwife haircut, bad taste in art, and her online psychiatry degree._

She was smiling almost innocently now. "I think I can also understand the logic behind your theories - but I can't help but wonder, why is it that the man, in your mind, is free to have as many dalliances as he like, while the woman must be beyond such reproach. Forgive me for my ignorance. I'm still learning, you see."

Carol bit her lip, opening her mouth, but Susannah wasn't quite done.

"He's angry with you, you know," Susannah rejoined. "Elijah may not seem it, but he is. So rude to spread rumors, Mrs. Lockwood."

"It's not a rumor if it is true. If you cannot offer him anything other than sex, how long do you think your pathetic relationship will last?"

Tyler's eyes shoot wide, and his hand reaches for his mother's arm.

"Longer than you marriage did," Susannah replied bluntly.

Silence.

Susannah savored the truth it brought. The truth she'd always suspected but never knew how to voice.

"You're trying to riddle him with guilt, for being close to me, You just don't get it, do you? I'm not doing anything to keep him close, in fact, I'd say I was doing the opposite."

The silence continued.

"And you feel as if telling everyone of my problems will help mask your own. Is that why he's so precious to you? When exactly did you find out about your late husband's numerous affairs...after or before he died?" The silence shouted a history of regret. Susannah knew it, because for her the history was the present. "Elijah is nobody's fool, least of all yours."

And when she risked a look at Elijah he was, watching her with subtle triumph and pride.

"Then why hasn't _he_ made a move to intervene?"

"Has it occurred to you it's because you're insignificant to him?"

The woman flinched as if Susannah had backhanded her. There really was no limit to the way people could be strange.

Tyler hesitantly pulls his shocked mother away, his eyes holding an apology. The empath waves him off giving the wolf a tentative smile.

She had expected this. She knew what people thought of her.

They think she's some kind of whore who jumps into bed with the first man who smiles at her. Or worse yet, that she's seducing him for his money.

"It's a small wonder they don't pull my lips back to check my teeth." Susannah sighed, glaring at nearly anyone who dared to come near.

"Talking to yourself is not a healthy pastime," said a voice too near for Susannah's liking.

Whatever reaction he hopes to provoke, he doesn't get. The sight of Susannah's cold, glass smile seems to only enrage him.

"It is when oneself is the only source of intelligent conversation," she quipped back.

"You're more dangerous than you look." He drawled, amused. "I wouldn't take anything she said personally. The people in this town aren't particularly learned."

Her body deflated already reaching her max with socialization.

She only came for one reason and one reason only. To apologize to the ones her magic had thoughtlessly taken. She wasn't in the mood to do another pissing contest with Damon fucking Salvatore.

"What do you want?" She asked unamused.

Damon just kept watching her.

"Please do take your time responding to me. I'll just watch paint dry, or, better yet. watch grass grow."

"So it's true. You really are looking for a relationship with Elijah."

"I'm looking for a bottle of vodka." Was her lovely response.

"I wonder how long you two have been _fucking_ behind everyone's back."

Susannah felt the frustration she had been holding in all day twist into something decidedly ugly inside of her. "Does it fucking matter."

"Elena-"

"Damon, I'm going to say this slowly so you might be able to understand. I don't give a fuck about Elena. So forgive me for being unable to summon any sympathy towards your cause. Furthermore, you attacked my family. You attacked me. You are lucky to be standing here, much less to accuse me of some kind of betrayal."

He seemed surprised that her defiance didn't come in the form of raised voices or ugly violence. Just cool, detached, truth.

Damon took a step back.

It wasn't because of Susannah, but because of Elijah who watched from behind the girl. The fierce ice in his eyes nearly knocking the Salvatore down. He had meant to touch a nerve with Susannah but he never expected such a reaction from the Mikaelson.

His eyes darted over to Alaric, the man who hid the dagger in his pocket. They were prepared.

"Careful, Bennett. You and Bonnie are becoming more of trouble than your worth. You need to stay the fuck away from Elijah...unless of course you want me to let him know how you planned to seduce him- oh, wait...looks like he heard. My bad."

Susannah's eyes flash.

"Stop. Stop with the petty baiting, Damon. It isn't a good look."

The Goddess Atermis must have made those eyes, and the God of war chose to make them more beautiful by putting fire within them.

"I'm getting incredibly pissed off at you telling me what to do. My relationship with Elijah is none of your business. So until you catch us fucking in the janitor's closet. Back off," Susannah growled, ignoring the feeling of Elijah's eyes. "Get off your pedestal and understand that Elijah would rather fuck me than deal with Elena and her bullshit."

And she may or may not have gone a little overboard, but honestly, everyone keeps pushing the wrong buttons...so the head bitch came out to play.

With a sigh she snatches a glass of champange and slips outside. She just needs a breath of fresh air.

* * *

Elijah watches Susannah glide out the door, people unconsciously moving to accommodate her. Whether it be because the sharpness in her eyes or the awe she garners from the mass public.

For a second all he wants to do is follow.

He restrains himself and instead heads to an isolated room.

He knows the hunter and the Salvatore's will follow.

They aren't nearly as stealthy as they like to think they are.

The room is rather small, with a stone fireplace and large chair as decoration. Very plain, but suitable enough for his purposes.

"Damon Salvatore, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The vampire in question closes the door behind him, locking the two inside.

"If you wish to question the validity of my agreement with the doppleganger-"

"I'd rather talk about Susannah." He looks at him over the rim of his glass, meeting his sharp eyes in the warm orange light of the room. "How is it to fuck her?" The young vampire gave a smug grin. Elijah raises a brow. Since Susannah had not denied such claims he wouldn't either.

"How vulgar of you." Elijah says slowly.

Damon gives him this look that implies belittling amusement, this- oh- you- poor- lovelorn-dog, that makes Elijah want to smash his brandy glass and use the shards to carve the Salvatore's face off his skull.

"I have a very good pair of eyes. It's not even her who gave it away. It's you. You look at her like she's the finest specimen you've ever laid eyes on. Initially, I took it for nothing. I mean, have you seen Bonnie and Susannah? They're fucking beautiful and they both have this don't fuck with me vibe, so it's really no surprise-"

"Are you looking for my rubber stamp of approval? Perhaps a congratulations for figuring it out? Oh, how intelligent you are Mr. Salvatore," Elijah replies, rather bored.

Damon looks like he sucked a sour lemon, and Elijah quells his amusement.

The door slams open and in slides Susannah, looking more than a little annoyed.

She was constantly drawn to Elijah by some inexplicable force, a magnet ever seeking the polarity that he exuded.

"Does the Bennett witch have nothing more to say of it?" Damon prodded with feigned amusement. "Surely she can further defend her own situation."

"Her name is Susannah," Elijah replies calmly. "Address her properly or not at all."

"Ever the defender you are."

"Susannah is more than capable of fighting her own battles," Elijah replied icily. "Must you be so repetitive though, she has said quite enough already."

"It's just as well this isn't a battle then," Susannah gritted, her eyes darting to Damon. "Your brother and the hunters bodies are outside. Be a dear and go collect them before the humans see."

She saw it coming. Honestly she truly did. Damon lunges at her, but before he can touch her his head is jerked back and abruptly smashed against the stone fireplace and dropped to the ground unconscious.

Susannah snorts.

Elijah's protection. _It's so dangerously lovely._

"You throw a hissy fit whenever I didnt use a coaster for my drink but you can smash a head open on _someone else's_ fireplace-"

Elijah took the glass of liqour out of her hand and set it down so harsly the cup cracked at the bottom causing the liquid to run a little river down to the unconscious vampire.

"Susannah." Elijah's voice was low and serious. And he looks at her like she's something wild and dangerous and he's not sure whether he wants to tame her or shoot her dead.

"Mr. Mikaelson."

"Back to formalities then?" Elijah inquired with a small smile.

"I'm speaking to you. Consider it a step in the right direction," the girl murmured, eyes sliding in his direction at last.

And she has to remind herself that Elijah Mikaelson wasn't a fix it.

Susannah had to remind herself that although he had given her, emotionally, a purpose back, she was by no means cured.

Focusing too much of her energy on the man was just as bad as focusing it all on what she did.

It wasn't coping.

It was escaping.

"I'm pretty sure Elena has the dagger that can effectively disable you...we should go while her lapdogs are still knocked -"

"Have you been sleeping?"

That startles a laugh out of Susannah. It feels good, clean. The laughter shakes through her and for the first time in a while, she dosen't mind the shaking. "What?"

"Have you been sleeping?" He repeats, his voice the very definition of patient.

She shurgs, not really understanding where this is going. Other's people care is so invasive, oozy, and sticky. His priority should be getting that stupid dagger, but here he is making...small talk. She could slap him.

"If you are not sleeping have you at least been eating decent meals?"

"Does whiskey and coffee count?" She said in a flat, mechancial voice that doesn't sound remotely reassuring.

"I suppose you are to be congratulated. Even when inconveniencing yourself you still manage to be prodigious." Elijah pauses and then smiles falsely. "What an over-achiever you are."

It almost seemed ridiculous, how invaded a mere look made her feel.

"Since you look like you want to stab me and haven't actually answered the question, I'm gonna go with no."

She was so unwittingly charming that Elijah had to straighten and adjust his coat, lest he act impulsively.

"I wanted to speak with you."

"I'm aware. It thought it could wait until later. Today is pretty hectic."

"You are aware," It was not a question, and the hair on the back of Susannah's neck stood up at something in Elijah's tone.

"Yes. I saw your calls."

He didn't immediately say anything to that. Suddenly he sighed. "What have I done to earn your ire this time, sweet Susannah?"

"No ire. Just busy. You should be too, we have to get that dagger."

"Did I inadvertently insult you, perhaps, and you are moved to defend your honor?" He asked, smooth voice gone acrid. "Is some manner of mine so offensive to you that you cannot bear to look at me directly as you have been more likely to do."

Susannah shook her head, her curls bouncing against her cheeks. "Very little about you offends me these days."

"Yet you avoid me for days. Dismissing my calls and purposely keeping _yourself from me_ this whole afternoon." His tone was angry, but the dark of something else was seeping out. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me why you keep glancing towards the door every few seconds and haven't been able to relax since you first came in proximity with me."

"I haven't."

Elijah raises a brow.

"Its not because of you."

"I didn't think it was."

"Look it's nothing," Replies Susannah. "I'm..."

"Fine. Yes I'm aware."

"Can we not," She snapped, glaring at the original.

And Elijah was doing that thing were he inched closer without seeming to move at all.

"Why do you force me to chase after you, Susannah?"

Her breath stuttered and her heart nearly stopped.

She'd thought about it. She'd wanted to fight Elijah. To bite him. To run. To be chased. To be caught and held tighter the next time.

The idea of Elijah chasing her sent a thrill through her.

"I'm leaving to get the dagger."

She turned on her heel.

"Susannah-" He looks at her like seeing a gem shine through in a new angle of sunlight.

"I'm leaving. Whether or not you agree to follow me will have no affect on my decision."

"I'm aware," Elijah said curtly.

"Good." She replies smugly. Before his name breaks out of her mouth. "And Elijah?"

The original cracks open his eyes; Susannah is hesitant, soft-eyed and soft-mouthed as she stares back. Hesitant. Wanting. It should concern him—how strongly he wants to give her whatever she wants. "Yes, sweetness?"

"Would you mind giving me a ride to the Gilbert family lake house? I have a theory I want to test."

She smiles as she opens the door, as if she already knows he would give exactly what she wanted.

* * *

Klaus watches with disinterest as his brother falls behind the the Bennett girl. He could feel her power, circling the air, biting at his skin.

But it didn't interest him.

Not when there was another.

The other power was more prominent, untrained, if he had to label it. Unknowing on how to hide so instead it stayed forth. Changing the quality of the very air into something dark.

He almost smirked how easily left alone she was.

Her wide green eyes darting around, like a prey animal sensing a predator, feeling him before she could see him.

"Hello love," he drawled lowly.

Watching as her back stiffened and her eyes danced with recognition.

"Nik," She said softly, instinctively pulling herself away from him. The way he moved, with his head tilted. was disconcerting. Like a jungle cat padding through new territory. He kept touching things, making little items align themselves to angles and corners, marking things with his fingertips.

"I see you've found my gift," his eyes dart to the pinned flower with a smug grin. It's almost not fair, the way her beauty over shines it.

She looks down at the flower, seeming mildly surprised, before her eyes narrow. This was on purpose. Perhaps it was some possessive trait, or an attempted strategy, what she does know is that he had to be watching her. Waiting until she was alone to corner her. That thought alone put her on edge.

"You wanted to catch me off guard."

"You accuse me?" The Mikaelson's tone doesn't change, but there's the slightest hint of darkness playing there.

"No," Bonnie shurgged her shoulders. Purposely keeping her distance, despite every cell in her body begging her to go forward into his arms. She could almost applaud his performance at being human. "But I want to wield something over you too."

"I see," The original let's out an amused huff. The trepidation bleeds from his voice. "Will you not ask me why I am here?"

"You would just lie." She snaps back, her eyes jumping over him. In Bonnie's dreams everything had seemed equal. Hell, to Nik they are equal, despite the fact that he is immortal and she is not.

And yet, right now, she feels instinctively less. As if whatever it is that gives him power, steals from her.

He grins.

Stepping forward as she takes a matching step back.

He seemed so familiar. So very familiar. It was as if she could distinctly connect his presence to Elijah. She shivered.

"Scared, love?" There was no hesitation in his words, oblivious to the way his words sliced through Bonnie, clean and sharp.

"I find you overwhelming is all. I don't fear vampires."

"None at all?"

"Nope." She can't help but feel like he is stealing her warmth.

Her eyelids flutter, hiding her from the terrifying, electric onslaught of Nik's amused grin.

Dangerous territory.

He steps forward, his hand brushing against the delicate curve of her cheekbone, drawing her head up.

"I'll hold you to that, love."


	14. Chapter 14

The two walk through the shadows, coming upon the young doppelganger, hiding herself inside the lake house. It had taken them too long to get here, it would be of no surprise if Stefan and Elena had both sequestered themselves inside.

Susannah nearly rolls her eyes as Elijah bends and picks up some rocks, rolling his fingers around the stones.

His aimed throw takes down the door, and the empath can't help but blink in surprise. The original never really showcased the full force of his strength in front of her. A rush of heady excitement lights her veins.

"You know," Elijah drawls out. "I might not be able to enter this house...but I am a very _patient_ man." He smirks then, terrifying and cold. "I'll wait you out."

Elena enters the open doorway, eyes wide and fearful, with her arms carefully clasped around her body.

"They shouldn't have done what they did."

"The deal's off," Elijah replies sparing no time in consideration. Susannah tilts her head, waiting.

"I'm renegotiating."

Susannah coughs a laugh.

"You have nothing left to negotiate with."

"I'd like to see you lure Klaus to Mystic Falls after the doppleganger bleeds to death."

 _He's already here._

"Elena," Susannah calls softly. "You need to stop and think for a second."

Elena shook her head, eyeing Susannah warily. The dagger clenched tightly in her hand. "I've already thought-"

"Not about Elijah, Elena," the empath interrupts. "No, Elena, you're going to want to think about me. You're going to want to think long and hard about how much you want to lose today." Her eyes flickered over the girl. "Because, while I'm endlessly sympathetic to the situation you are in, I truly am, you tried to use me as a pawn...and that is something I refuse to tolerate."

Susannah raises her left hand and snaps her fingers. In a second, the youngest Salvatore's neck is snapped. And with a wave of her palm his body is thrown outside in front of Elijah.

Like a sacrificial lamb laid before an altar.

"You want to stab yourself and let yourself bleed out. By all means go right ahead..." Susannah uses her foot to turn Stefan face up. "You won't have his blood to turn you. And I'm sure I would be able to length the time it takes for all the blood to leave you. Just long enough for Elijah to heal you and do what he needs to do."

The Mikaelson is staring at her now. The look that blooms on his face, slack jaw- helpless, yearing, and yet somehow predatory. Steals her very breath.

Because no one has ever looked at her like that.

Susannah thinks perhaps that no one in all of humankind has ever looked at another like that.

"So Elena, darling, are you willing to bet against me or are you going to hand over the dagger so we can talk like fucking adults?"

"I don't understand," Elena mutters with watery eyes. "How you could turn against us. Elijah intends for me to die, he-"

"Isn't relevant to this discussion."

Elena's jaw drops as she looks at the original, with clear surprise.

"You aren't dealing with him right now. You are dealing with me."

That was in no way better.

Elena steels herself.

Susannah scoffed at the visibly straightening of the girls spine. " Besides I didn't break your trust. Any trust between us was uneasy at best. You chose to be blind to me. It's not as if I tricked you into thinking I was on your side...and it's not like you ever believed I was. That's why you used Bonnie against me."

Elijah's hand comes against her back, moving up and down her spine, making her heart feel to big for her body.

"Besides why do you think Elijah's been spending so much time with me? He was looking for a way to keep you alive."

 _A lie. A blatant one._

She catches his eyes, his confusion. She shoots him a smile full of mischief.

So it seems the empath has her own agenda after all. And it would be terribly rude for Elijah to ruin it.

And for the first time he understands. People don't know how to take Susannah and sometimes they respond in strange ways to her very presence. He nearly chuckles, she seems to spend a lot of time deliberately confusing people.

"So we will be renegotiating. But this time I play mediator."

* * *

Damon, Stefan, and Elena sit on one side of the room.

Susannah and Elijah on the other, both watch the other side with careful eyes.

The empath clears her throat daintyly, hands over lips, peering at the original through her long lashes. Elijah narrows his eyes at her, as if he were impatient, but Damon knows better- the Salvatore gives that same look to Elena when she does something endearing.

Susannah then makes an unsure noise as if she's not sure how to express herself.

Damon had been paying close attention to the two of them, watching as they circled each other like sharks.

Nearly downright unnerving.

Neither of them backed down from each other.

Damon could understand Elijah's deep interest in Susannah Bennett's mind.

It was a lovely, vicious, thing.

Elijah wanted to own it in every way—own her. But, for what other reason? For a man like Elijah—who was hardly a man at all—what did he see in Susannah that made him want to claim her?

"You want us to trust some five hundred old elixir-"

"It'll work." Susannah cuts the Salvatore off. Eyeing her nails.

"How the hell would you-"

His voice is cut off by an invisible fist clenching around his throat.

Elijah was well aware Susannah was powerful. It was in her casual arrogance, her unthinking reliability on her magic that left her bold. But he'd never felt the crackle of raw power emanating from her. Susannah's essence seemed to fill the room with nothing more than the threat of her voice and the intensity of her eyes.

Stefan jumps up," Stop."

Susannah merely tilts her head, eyebrow raised, lips puckered in distaste.

She let's the Slavatore choke for a minute more before letting him drop, watching with apathetic eyes as he falls to his knees.

When she looks at Elijah her eyes lose their daggers in them and she relaxes- well as much as Susannah ever let's herself relax.

"As I said. It. Will. Work."

Elijah let out a grin that was more menacing than amused. It frightened the empath, but it also made her want to crawl across the table and into the original's lap, right into the arms of the devil himself.

"Susannah Bennett is considered royalty in the art of magic. She is untouchable and powerful in ways none of you could understand." Elijah pauses, leaning back in his chair. "If she says it will work. It will work."

Her cheeks heat up in a blush. Elijah showers her beauty with praises often, but when he compliments her power, her strength, it is a different feeling.

Something warmer.

Something that comes from her heart and spreads throughout her entire body.

* * *

They stand outside.

The renegotiation ended well enough, Elijah getting the dagger so it couldn't be used against him and Elena getting the one thing that would ensure her survival.

"Not one of them could look me in the eyes after what they did with Bonnie. I took their active avoidance as a victory."

"Hmm. Imagine you, seeking out eye contact," Elijah teased and Susannah grinned.

"Vindictiveness trumps uncomfortableness. I've learned that about myself just now."

"I shall celebrate your insight."

"I shall thank you for your thoughts in this wonderful time," and her smile dimmed. And then, "Thank you." She whispered as she closed her eyes and breathed him in.

The ancient vampire looks at her, the question clear in his expression. "I should be thanking you for-"

"No," Susannah says simply. Looking up through her eyelashes at him. "For calling me strong."

He chuckles then, wearing astonishment as a cloak. "How could I not?" he takes a few moments to pace and move around, thinking long and hard about her remark.

"Why," he says licking his lips, "I still regret the first day I met you, and I spoke down at you. I've learned- and been reminded several times - about how much you can handle. You'll be careful with everything you do, thinking thoroughly as you always will. You'll have your opinions and maybe even act out with your emotions in response, but they'll always be justified."

Elijah towers next to her, she has never minded feeling as small as she does before.

The truth is there, contrasted against all this calculated perfection. So evenly said and distributed.

"Furthermore, none of this changes the fact that you currently possess a clear advantage which you didn't have before."

"What?" asks Susannah, despite already suspecting the answer.

"Me, of course," says the original airily. "Whatever you're required to face, you won't have to face it alone." Susannah glances up rather hopefully and Elijah adds, more gently and sincerely than previously: "You'll have me by your side as an extremely committed advocate."

She is silent.

Her mouth soft, and her eyes fluttering.

A soft blush on her cheeks.

"Oh," she sucks in a breath. " I've never had fans before. It's kind of nice."

Something intolerably tender softens the lines around his mouth and eyes, that Susannah feels like a physical touch in the center of her chest.

Elijah considers her a moment, his eyes skating over Susannah's soft features, so contradictory with her predatory nature. "What a beautiful mind you have."

"Thanks, I use it to fend people off," Susannah says, running a hand through her hair to push back the strands sticking to her forehead, "That doesn't seem to work too well with you."

"No, indeed." Elijah wants to touch those curls. "May I touch your hair?"

Susannah perks up at that. "For?"

"A sudden craving."

Susannah snorts. "Go ahead."

His hand immediately sinks into her hair, feeling the coils and twisting them around his fingers.

"And if I asked you to come with me right now, would you do it? Without asking the destination?"

"Depends. I guess."

"It cannot depend, Susannah." Elijah replied carefully, still petting her. "It must be either a yes or a no. Will you come?"

The atmosphere feels volatile – crackling and thrumming with an energy that's primed to ignite at the smallest provocation.

"I'm going to have to stop trying to guess what you'll say next," Susnanah says, once she can get words out again. Trying not to moan when he experimentally tugs at her hair. "I'm not used to people throwing me curveballs so often."

Elijah smiles, and the warmth of it reaches his eyes. "Is that a yes, then?"

Susannah stops herself from saying that's a yes to everything, but it's a near thing.

She slips into the passenger seat and allows Elijah to have control, the original looking upset at the loss of contact with her hair, she tries not to pay too much attention to her surroundings, lest she convinces herself this is not a good idea.

"If it makes you feel better," Elijah begins, his expression incomprehensible, like he doesn't feel the weight of his words between them. "It's hard for me to figure out what you ever intend to do. In any situation."

She watches him, lip curling up.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"No, I hadn't predicted this outcome at all. With all my knowledge of people. You've surprised me in a way that I am rarely surprised by anyone."

"You're admitting to ignorance?" Susannah let's out a derisive laugh. "Well we must all endeavor to surprise and entertain you, shouldn't we, Elijah? Dance to your tune. Play by your rules. Elijah Mikaelson, the great puppet master behind the veil."

Elijah smiled, seemingly half way in love. "Tonight are we not all playing by your rules, Susannah?"

Sometimes Susannah acts like prey. Tense and wary and ready to jump. Right now danger rolls off her in waves.

"You give me too much credit."

"Darling Susannah," Elijah whispers grasping her hand. "I respectfully disagree."

The Mikaelson supposed this empath before him really never knew what she intended to do before she did it. She didn't plan for hours on end...she simply took opportunities as they arose. Making her entirely unpredictable.

"Why did you show your ferocity for me?" He asks.

And isn't at all surprised to see her spine tighten and her to grow defensive. "It wasn't for you."

"Nevertheless, I am curious."

She shifts in her seat and bites down on her lip.

The movement looks fraught and rather desperate and Elijah watches her progress with something like fascination because Susannah's lips are unexpectedly luscious when bitten and it's hard not to imagine what they would look like when flushed and swollen from an excessive application of his lips on hers

"It was nothing they wouldn't have done to me...given of course it suited their purposes."

Susannah doesn't sound hurt, per say, but she does sound bitter.

He pulls the car up into a spot near the side of the woods Susannah had never been to. His tires will get dirty and the thought annoys him less than it should.

He wastes no time opening the door for her and helping her out, his eyes never leaving her as if he couldn't stand the thought of missing every extraordinary thing she did.

"We'll have to walk the rest of the way."

She smiles and he has to painfully remind himself that this woman could undo him in a minute.

"Why did you bring me here?" Susannah's voice is oddly quiet, as though she is afraid to break the silence.

Elijah isn't able to answer though the words lie on his tongue. _I want to get to know you, I want to help you, I want to be the one you rely on. I want to help you find a way through the darkness._

Instead he says, "You looked like you needed a break."

"And what did you hope to achieve with concerning yourself with my problems?" Susannah turns defensive as she often does.

"Nothing." Elijah said honestly.

And worst of all, he had no reason to bring her here. Elijah had simply seen the stars one night and decided that he wanted Susannah to see them as well.

"Are you upset about me not answering your calls?" Susannah murmurs, prodding, as she always does.

Her brown skin glowing in the moon's silver glare.

"Do not do us a disservice and pretend you don't know the answer to that, Vita Mia." He hummed in response, displeased but disinterested in arguing.

When he looks at her, for a second, her beauty overwhelms him.

She wears the dress she had worn to the memorial. It was a lovely black thing, that tightened around her waist in such a way that drew ample attention to her lovely ass and swelling breast. She was a radiating vision of beauty. Embodying feminine grace and serenity.

His mouth feels suspiciously dry.

"I-" her mouth falls closed.

"You never did tell me why you left," He whispered out into the cold air. His words drifting to her with a burst of wind. "You should have told me if you were feeling neglected."

This pulled a snort from Susannah.

"Neglected? No. You were nothing if not... thorough in your attentions."

"And yet you left," Elijah said staring her down.

"You could have found me. You chose not to."

"I didn't see the point in lingering where I was so clearly unwanted."

 _Unwanted._

 _Unwanted._

The word rolls around her head.

A part of her wishes the Mikaelson was unwanted...that would be easier and so much less confusing.

Even having Elijah in her personal space isn't turning out to be the ordeal she expected it to be – and which logically it really should, because Elijah has a way of taking up so much space. It isn't just a matter of height or musculature either, but the way his sheer presence draws the eye and demands awareness; the way he breathes glamour and intrigue the same way normal people breathe air, or the aura of sensuous strength and carnality that sometimes seems to shimmer around him.

"Is there something I have failed to provide you with?"

The question when it came, was met with an unexpected jerk of her head.

"No you've given me more than I needed. more than I deserved."

"You deserve the world, Vita Mia."

The quiet assertion in the original's voice was heavy with something, something dangerously close to hope. Her heart twisted with want so deeply that all her walls so painstakingly built, corroded away.

"What is the purpose of this conversation?"

"After relying on each other, coming to know one another, respecting and caring for each other, you still insist on keeping us separate. Why?"

Something sour began to turn in her with a wicked voice in her head that urged her to hurt the man who so carelessly grasped her heart.

"You don't get to ask me that."

She was a far cry from soft spoken and delicate, oh, she had her moments of vulnerability, but she herself was not vulnerable.

And as time slipped by and they settled into a semblance of a routine together (if you could even call it that) he realized she was now privy to much of his life, but he still knew hardly anything of hers.

Oh he had guesses. And more than that he had hundreds of witches who would jump at aiding him. But he held off, supremely confident that she would let something more slip.

But instead she silently never let herself venture too far.

"Then what do I get to ask you, Susannah?"

Now he's deliberately using his greater height and strength to hem Susannah in, and can't help but be secretly amused (and somewhat touched) by the fact that while Susannah has no real hope of overpowering him – and must surely know this – she's still refusing to concede any ground and has set her shoulders into a small, defiant hunch which is rather adorable in its futility.

Elijah smiles to himself and smooths his palm across her back as a reward for being so courageous.

She laughed already walking away. "I don't have time for this. It wasn't _at all like that_." She can't help the frustration that bubbles up inside of her. "You're overreacting."

There was no softness to her, just fire and lightening.

"I am not overreacting sweet Susannah," Elijah shot back, his voice calm...too calm. "You disappeared from the apartment without a word, you didn't tell me where you were going or for how long. I thought you knew better than this."

"I don't want to hear this."

"Why?" Elijah shot back. "Has my opinion become insufficient to you?"

Susannah stepped back shaking her head. "This has nothing to do with you Mikaelson. Why can't you just let me have my privacy."

"I have done nothing but let you have your privacy," Elijah growled. "I have done nothing but give you your space and room to breathe. All I ask is that you respect the fact that I am trying to help you. You hardly sleep, hardly eat, and are drinking far too much. Right now, I am responsible for you."

"You are all the fucking same," Susannah breathed out in disbelief. "All of you. You, Bonnie, the rest of the stupid friend group that devote themselves to the doppelganger. All of you don't trust me. All of you want me constantly under your eye; want to know everything I do. It's suffocating. You may as well take a leaf out of Qetsiyah's book and keep me locked up in a coffin."

Elijah for once was at a loss of words. He simply stared at Susannah, trying to put his thoughts together to reply with something comprehensible.

"I have asked you before not to compare me to those who have harmed you. I've done my best not to force my presence on you... but this is an insult I will not bear," Elijah managed, something testy lingering in his voice. "You are not a cruel person, Susannah. Do not start now."

She takes a step back. Elijah steps closer. She moves away again and still he follows. It's a tame, childish game of tag.

"You do realize we are nothing to each other, right?" Susannah hisses. "You're not my doctor, you're not my family, you're not my boyfriend."

Susannah had never seen Elijah look so hurt or taken aback, and she immediately felt guilty.

"I have only ever tried to be your friend."

They stare at each other, beneath the stars.

"I will take you home." Elijah said, suddenly, no longer wanting to prolong this trip. They were so close to the stars, so close. And yet...

"There's something wrong with you," Susannah bursts out.

She does not want him to leave just yet. She wants to talk in that confusing way of theirs. She wants to know without really knowing. She wants to understand at least one thing in the world she lives in.

Elijah doesn't flinch, but his hands clench into a fist before quickly releasing.

He hides his offense behind his eyes.

"Oh?"

"I don't know what it is," Susannah continues. Her gold eyes are statues, layered and dark. "I've been trying to figure it out." She squints. "I thought a step back would help, a few steps back, but you're good. Very good."

Elijah relaxes before immediately tensing with understanding. All those sudden weeks of radio silence—all those withdrawals were periods of study, Susannah's attempts to piece together the clues and puzzle him out, like looking at a painting from a distance to get its meaning. Elijah fights the beastly urge to lash out.

He doesn't bother denying it.

He knows a thousand years on this earth has ruined him. He's morally ambiguous at best, and though he may often pretend to care...that's all it really is, pretend. And Susannah must see his ugly core. Must see the death, and need of bloodshed, the love of carnage.

"And when you do figure it out will you attempt to run again and again?"

"Probably," Susannah concedes and he can see in her eyes that this is an apology.

The following silence causes her heart to race.

She ruined it. She ruined them.

"Please," She whispered.

Too quick for Susannah to understand Elijah was merely an inch away, if she lifted her chin they would be kissing. His body was a long relaxed line, that sent warning signals blaring off. Susannah unconsciously straightened her back, something which Elijah mirrored effortlessly. The challenge he presented was so vulgar, she didnt think he was capable.

But push a man too far, and he may leave his manners at the door.

The look Susannah was getting now told her to be very careful about what she said next: dead stare and demeanour affectless, as if Susannah was a complete stranger to be easily rid of. Unbothered.

"Misery loves company," She tries half-heartedly. Another apology.

He can hear all the words not said.

She shoots a wry smile.

"Not this time, I think," Elijah said softly, shooting Susannah a shy disbelieving look, "It's not misery if neither of us is alone."

Forgiveness.

* * *

Bonnie has a headache.

Elena had been blowing up her phone, from dragging Susannah through the mud, disparaging Susannah's relationship with Elijah, and in turn insisting that the betrayal of her keeping _Susannah's abilities a secret_ somehow was on level with Damon breaking into her dead grandmother's home and stealing something of Susannah's and asking her to do a spell that would turn out to harm not only Susannah but a bunch of people as well...yep, definitely on the same fucking level.

Bonnie rolls her eyes.

She had been enjoying her peace and quiet, trying all day to take a nice nap.

But insomnia was being a polyamorous bitch.

She for a long moment considers blocking the doppelganger's number, but figures that would be bad form and instead pretends she went to sleep.

The knock on the door, however, has her contemplating the likelihood of a sudden fire breabreaking out and burning her along with the house.

 _Oh no, it was so sudden and welp looks like I can't save anyone today. Very Unfortunate. Some would even say tragic!_ But instead of doing such a thing she rolls herself out of bed, and stumbles her way downstairs.

Who knows, it could be one of those people who try to convert you to their cult.

When she opens the door, Caroline stands there with more grocery bags than she should be capable of holding.

"What?" is all Bonnie has the capability of saying.

"Multiple trips are for pussies."

The blonde barges her way in.

"Care," Bonnie starts gently. "I know you get carried away with emotion but don't you think just showing up at someone's house with food is a little...much."

"I'll make you bacon."

Damnit. What little resistance she has crumbles. Although she makes an effort to stay silent.

"And I'll rip out Elena's hair."

"Hammurabi's code-"

"Nope, you know good and well I have no idea what that is."

Bonnie pinches her nose. "Back to my point, I'll quote the bible. Exodus-"

"Why do you have the bible memorized?" Caroline questions, her nose scrunched like she smelled something bad.

"Exodus chapter twenty one- verse twenty four- 'an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth-' either way the world ends up blind and toothless. And while I hear that makes for good blowjobs, people without teeth creep me out."

"Babies have no teeth."

"I don't see how that disapproves my point," Bonnie mutters. "Care, the bacon is enough. Besides you'd end up killing her and making a mess. And I'm sick and tired of cleaning up after your messes and you breaking my shit and stealing my shit."

Bonnie's words are enough to cause her to frown, "I don't steal your shit."

"Yes. You do. I know you took the last piece of pie."

"How do you know Susannah didn't take it."

"Because she would have at least washed the tray after she ate it, not put it back in the fridge empty."

"Well," Caroline sniffs. "I'd hardly call that stealing."

Bonnie raises an unimpressed brow.

Caroline sighs, and guiltily smiles. But not before raising a bottle of whiskey that she most definitely stole.

"Fine. Fine. But if you vomit anywhere I'm setting your hair on fire. Also no social media, Elena needs to think I'm sleeping."

* * *

Susannah stares at the stars, more than a little drifted from reality.

"What has you looking so contemplative? Lost in thought?" Elijah asks, brow risen in curiosity. He is further away from Susannah now, hand straightening his jacket down on the ground below him. Susannah feels like he is breathing down her neck despite her eyes telling her that is impossible.

She turns towards the man sitting just beside her. A weak smile on her lips. "Self- deprecating thoughts, mostly. Certainly not lost though."

Elijah was close now, close enough she could twitch her hand and find his own.

The look the original gives her is unreadable, and yet so intriguing that it keeps the empath on her toes. The Mikaelson has a remarkable ability to make Susannah feel inadequate -- in every definition of the word -- with a single glance and in a single exhale of breath.

"If not lost," Elijah says, "where do your thoughts lead you?"

She doesn't know how to respond. Or, she does, but she isn't sure she can admit that right now. Her mind seems to betray her only when in the presence of Elijah Mikaelson; whether that is an act purposely implemented by the ancient vampire himself, his entire demeanor constructed to manipulate his environment and those around him, or an act of Susannah's subconscious, she isn't sure. She isn't sure he wants to learn the real answer, either.

"Everything seems... perfect."

There is something in her voice that makes Elijah feel as if that isn't necessarily a good thing.

"Perfect," he repeats, drawling the word out. "How so?"

"You don't see it? Of course not. You'd rather let moments like this slip by."

"Moment?" Elijah questions, he wonders if she means him and her. Or the stars above them.

"Its quiet and beautiful. The temperature is perfect. I've never seen the stars shine so brightly. I've never felt so open. I live for these moments."

Elijah grew suddenly very serious. The stars were hardly there, and the temperature was nothing close to perfect. "How long, exactly, were you trapped in sleep."

"I wasn't asleep," Susannah scowled. "And it changed me in the way solitary confinement would change anyone."

"Are you suffering?"

The following silence let Elijah know he wouldn't be getting an answer.

Her eyes dart around the forest surrounding him. Trying her best to avoid.

"Sweetheart," Elijah begins quietly. "Why don't you talk of your time before the coffin?"

"Don't."

"Ignoring it-"

"I am not choosing to ignore it, Elijah. I remember all the blood, and all that it took to make it spill...That girl isn't worth holding onto," Susannah replies. Short, clipped, and remarkably casual.

"I...I believe she might have been."

"And what do you know?" Susannah nearly growls. She pauses, reaching up to rub her forehead tiredly. "You just didn't know her. What she was like, or how she felt or what she wanted-"

But of course that isn't true. She isn't the only one that time has touched and changed.

"I would have liked her," Elijah says gently. He can nearly imagine it. Less weary and more fierce. Less afraid. "I would have liked her very much."

The smile he receives is wary, fiercely lonely in a way he hadn't seen before. "Stop trying to flatter me. That's stupid, Elijah."

"It's not and flattery is excessive and insincere, two categories that I do not believe suit my words," he replies strongly. "My sweet Susannah...you before the coffin wasn't the enemy you had to destroy. The people around you? Perhaps. But not her. Not you. She was special just as you are now."

"You're crazy," Susannah snarls through tears, jaw clenching unhappily.

"So you've told me with great regularity. But, if I might remind you, my apparent insanity is what pushed us together."

She laughs, hiding her face as she wipes at her cheeks.

"You're just annoyingly persistent. You never know when to leave me alone."

"Simply because you have an impossible way of showing your interest in me, sweet Susannah."

"I don't-"

"Also, I think you need to work on your insults, it hardly seems you mean them anymore." The Mikaelson's smile is sharp and predatory, smug around the edges, but it makes Susannah more comfortable than she'd like to admit, every time.

"I still don't understand what you want with me."

She crossed her arms, trying to appear casual.

"Intelligent, talented, attractive…" Elijah began.

"Surly, disagreeable, rude." Susannah countered.

"Yes those as well," he agreed with a fond smile.

"Elijah..." Susannah reprimanded, pulling away. "You can't- you can't do things like this. Not with me."

"You always allow me so little."

Only Susannah can do this, and he should resent her. Resent her for being capable of reducing him.

"You're dangerous in large doses."

A stick breaks and she flinches as her eyes dart to the darkness of the woods. It was an animal, but even so she can't relax.

"Are you truly so wary of me?"

Susannah turned to briefly catch Elijah's eyes, she quickly wishes she hadn't. "You put thoughts in my head I've never had before. I'd say I'm probably right to be wary."

Elijah slowly ran a hand through Susannah's curls, holding her gaze. "Believe me, Vita Mia. I share the sentiment completely."

She turns away at another sound. Her hands tightening into fist. She pushes her magic out and scans the forest, looking for something that can threaten her peace. Destroy her.

"We are alone here. You can stop now."

"Stop what?" Susannah asks, nearly a whisper.

"Stop tracking for danger." There was no breath in the air but Susannah's own.

"You're still doing it," Elijah remonstrated.

"Doing what?"

"We are alone," Elijah reminded her. His hands dropping to hers, guiding her, holding her. "You don't need to strategize here. **_You are in my care_**. The layout of the woods need not concern you, there are no traps awaiting. There are no enemies waiting for our guards to drop and no creatures hiding in the shadows."

Something in Susannah shook then, something buried deeper than she's ever known.

"There is nothing to fear here, Susannah." Elijah continued, guiding her closer. "You are safe with me. You can stop now."

The words wove around her and Susannah shook her head. It couldn't be true. There was always something waiting.

She's breathtaking in that moment. Elijah wants to reach out and touch the long lashes that frame those golden eyes of hers. He watches as her fingers curl around each other, jittery. He knows he has asked a lot of her, knows that relaxing is something she is afraid to let herself have.

But he wants that for her. He wants her to feel safe.

Susannah leans over, glancing at the bag he brought with him. She's trying to direct her attention elsewhere. She's trying for him. His heart swells. "What's in that?"

"Allow me my dramatic reveal," the original responds tilting it out of sight.

Susannah falls back, sheepish and amused. "What was I thinking."

The Mikaelson pulls out a massive tome on astronomy, filled with marked illustrations and marked paragraphs explaining the planets and stars.

Her brow quirked. "Are you giving me a free lesson?"

"How could I refuse you," Elijah replied smoothly. "Although, classes are typically reserved for the enrolled, you know."

"Yes, professor," Susannah replies gallantly. Dancing off her tongue shamelessly and self-assured.

He chuckled openly at that.

One whole chapter is devoted to comets, and Elijah runs his hands over the pages and tells Susannah what he knows from observation, and Susannah has never seen him so driven by something. So enthused, the raw spill of moonlight cascading onto them, and he points at various dots in the sky. Tracing constellations with his fingers, mapping out dragons and bears and mythical sea creatures.

"Do you ever look up and see how small we are?" Elijah wonders quietly.

"I don't appreciate the jabs at my height," Susannah teases. "And you, Mikaelson, will never be small. Not even next to the biggest star."

On whim he reaches out and squeezes her hand. "Come closer," he murmurs.

She scrambles closer, doing her best to not look overeager and failing miserably. And once Susannah finds herself pressing her head into Elijah's shoulder so she can see better, her cheek tucked against the soft fabric, inhaling Elijah's scent...something inside of her flutters and she feels almost as invincible as Elijah must feel everyday.

He mentions how the stars names connect with myths, and he makes a decent effort to connect those myths to her.

"Icarus," he whispers. "It's one of my least favorite myths. I think both parties are, for lack of a better word, quite stupid."

"I like Icarus," Susannah replies strongly.

"Oh," Elijah says playfully. A ways away from the hardened man from before. "Why is that?"

"I think it's an interesting story about human nature."

"I respect your decision fully," Elijah says, his smile apparent in his words. He wants to expand on that, tell her he respects every decision she makes. "While I do respect it, I won't stop believing it is wrong."

Susannah's jaw drops. She quickly recovers and rolls her eyes. Her eyes jump to him and he represses a shiver, her gaze is as powerful as always.

"Their lack of communication lead to their fault and loss. That's an important message."

"So you enjoy the message. That doesn't necessarily mean you enjoy the story, or make Icarus less of an uneducated fool."

"Hey," Susannah admonished playfully. "The world needs its uneducated fools. Icarus had been given his first taste of freedom, of course he would abuse the warnings, he was too filled with excitement to see any repercussions."

Her words were kind, but her eyes uncaring. He imagined her watching with interest as Icarus fell from the sky in a golden plume, a crown of flowers on her head and silk clothing her figure.

 _He imagined even Hades would tremble under her gaze._ _Maybe Susannah was his Persephone._

"And you can't tell me you haven't, like Icarus, flown too close to the sun."

Elijah smiled then, so openly and kindly.

"With the sun being as beautiful as you how could I resist coming closer?"

Susannah threw her head back and laughed. "I suppose that makes you just as much of an uneducated fool as the rest of us," bumbing into the Mikaelson playfully.

Elijah returned her smile, his own nearly feral with pride. How intriguing this girl was.

"Are you flirting with me, Susannah? And to think, you once found me to be uninteresting."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"If I was it was entirely an unconscious act."

"Unable to help yourself?" Elijah asked with a rouge grin.

Susannah's answering smile grew so wide that her eyes nearly closed with it. Elijah caught the heady and sweet scent of a very _interested_ woman, dripping off her skin.

She would most certainly welcome his touch now.

"I wouldn't call it that," she murmured back softly.

"And what do you think Daedalus?" His fingers draw patterns across the book, causing her to shiver. A simple touch could do so much to her, simultaneously glad and upset that she is not recieving it.

"He was foolish for believing his young son would listen to him. Of course the young boy would try flying to the sun or skimming his wings across the water. His father tried to block that, couldn't understand that he was boy who didn't see boundaries."

"Did your parents set boundaries for you that you ignored?"

Silence.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about family. It's always a touchy subject for everyone. After all, you haven't mentioned yours, and I'm assuming there's a good reason for that."

Elijah inclines his head.

"Then may I ask what you were like as a child?"

She stared at Elijah. What would truly be the harm in telling. He already knew more than her descendant. Would it be so harmful to speak the truth?

"Only if you tell me what were you like as a child first," Susannah replies not willing to give away more ground then she can get.

Elijah gives Susannah's question a moments thought, the light flickering over the sharp angles of his features, illuminating and casting him in shadows in turn. Susannah finds she doesn't want to tear her eyes from him, and so for once, allows herself to simply look.

Elijah's eyes are unfocused as he stares into the sky, as if lost in the past.

"Strange," Elijah replies after a moment, his voice thoughtful and cryptic as ever. "My childhood was privileged. Then filled with hardship, then privileged again. Though by the time the hardship ended the damage was already done."

Susannah swallowed. "I was a shy child. Painfully shy, actually. Quiet and soft-spoken." She ducks her gaze. "And strange and lonely too...often left to my own devices."

"A strange little girl, in a strange place," Elijah hums, his gaze sharp in the low light when it finally swings to the empath. "What were your own devices?"

She smiles sadly, scratching the side of her hand. "Wandering," she says quietly. "Reading. Learning."

"It provided an escape," Elijah says and it sounds like he knows from experience.

Susannah nods. "And distraction." She sighs. "Even in my earliest memories I was aware I saw more than I should. Like...like subtitles in a foreign film. I might not have understood what was going on on the surface, but there was another level, one that I understood. It made people wary of me. Especially my father."

"Because you could see beneath his surfaces," Elijah guessed. "Did you fear your father?" Elijah asked, picking through Susannah's words like he always did, grabbing the most painful stitch and tugging on it, unwinding. Susannah paused for a long moment. It felt like remembering prayers from childhood; like bringing blasphemy to light.

"I feared my father," Susannah said, after a long silence. The words felt like a benediction and a betrayal all at once.

Elijah nodded.

"I did too," and he did. Every time he looked back on his memories he would always be ashamed of how he allowed Niklaus to be the sole recipient of their father's wrath. How weak he was.

They all got their beatings...But they all also knew Niklaus received the worst of it.

Susannah shut her eyes, squirming.

"He used to grab me by my hair and force me to look into his eyes. He knew I _hated_ it," It came out as a whimper. "He knew I could see everything... my father had a lot of _darkness_ in him."

Elijah felt a rush of rage shake him.

The idea of anyone hurting his darling in such a way- he took a steadying breath and hid that rage before Susannah could see it.

"And your mother?" he tried, knowing he was pushing further than he ever had.

"She must have known something was wrong with me." Her features wary and pressed into a dark expression. "Mother's intuition and all that."

"Is that why she refused to hold you?"

"I was born dead," Susannah whispers quietly into the air. Into Elijah. "And then I wasn't. That is why my mother refused to hold me."

She drops her gaze. And Elijah keeps his face carefully blank. "I suppose some would find that worrying."

Susannah chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "I can't talk about this anymore- I can't-"

"Shh," he soothes, his arms wrapping around her possessively. "I'm sorry I pushed you so far, my sweet Susannah."

She let's herself fall into his chest. Let's him press kisses on her forehead and cheeks, at the edge of her mouth and a single, chaste, kiss on her lips.

It is merely a peck, barely a mere moment of contact but her whole world shifts.

Elijah just kissed her.

She wants to ask him to do it again. And again. And again. And to never stop.

But her jaw refuses to let those words out.

But he has to see something in her eyes, something pleading because he kisses her again.

It started as a brief press of lips against lips.

Then his tongue slid along the seam of Susannah's mouth and she fell into the kiss, helplessly, like falling into a fit of laughter or a coma. Like any other kiss, it had the intuitive quality of a composition in progress. Like no other kiss, it had desire sliding hot down Susannah's spine. Underneath the sour note of whiskey, Elijah tasted like the white, hard flesh of a green apple, and she wanted to sink her teeth into it.

She wanted to taste Elijah everywhere.

When Elijah pulled back, his eyes were the shimmery black of velvet rubbed against the grain. One of his hands cradled the base of Susannah's skull, gentle yet firm, like he was holding a newborn.

"I- ah," She stutters. His eyes jump to hers at her sudden speechlessness. Desperately Susannah grasps at the remaining conversation.

And the Mikaelson just leans back and looks at the sweet openness in her face, the vulnerability.

They end up sprawled against the grass.

Susannah warm and unbuttoned like a gift, and Elijah tucked over her to the other side, nosing into the sharp curve behind Susannah's ear. He snuffles there, scenting, testing the skin with soft licks.

"Always with the smelling," she says.

Elijah draws his nose down the line of Susannah's neck, sets his teeth on the curve of his sternocleidomastoid muscle, and holds. He doesn't bite down, but he could. He could.

Susannah swallows, feeling the delicate skin of her throat rolling up against Elijah's tongue.

When she shifts her hips, she can feel the hardness of Elijah's cock. The contact makes him exhale harshly. He presses Susannah into the ground and ruts against her, once, twice, hard enough to jolt Susannah slightly up. Her mouth falls open as warmth and wetness pool between her thighs.

"Elijah," she moans around his name.

She felt his hands glide firmly down her curves to dip under her dress, bunching the fabric and trying to urge it over her hips.

Leaning her weight on her knees, she lifted up to assist him and her lips tickled as he chuckled softly against her mouth; his hands were already gripping her bare ass and he was clearly amused to have found she wasn't wearing anything under her ridiculously formfitting dress.

Susannah squirmed against, breath escaping her in short gasps and little moans that made the Original above her hum with pleasure.

His soulmate enjoyed his touch.

Her skin was so sensitive, her body so unused to feeling pleasure. He had lived many years, he could give her pleasure greater than any other ever could. He let his hands drag against the tender skin of her thighs, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Her hips made a little aborted movement, but her position allowed no leverage. She could do nothing but sit there and take it.

Could do nothing but curl closer, ache for his touch

She watched in fascination as he splayed his strikingly large hands over her inner thighs, her chest heaving with panting breaths as she felt his thumbs trace lightly up and down her folds.

And then, just as suddenly, Elijah's gone. Susannah is left staring up at the sky full or stars dazed. She's cold in all of the places he had been.

"Elijah," she whimpered.

"We can't."

"What- why?"

"You aren't ready."

"I am," Susannah snaps back, her eyes dark.

"You aren't my love, and that's okay." He leans back over her.

"But-" her voice broke off and her eyes went alarmingly wide. "Don't you want me?"

 _Sinful of her to ask._

 _In reality, it's just a self-preservation thing... because once we go there, once we are that intimate, I won't be able to let you go. So, for my own sake, I need you to feel the same, that this is something you want, that you'll keep me, that you want me to keep you. That's all it is._

"I always have wanted you, Susannah," he kisses her again. "You know this," he lets out against her lips.

"Are you trying to get me to beg?" She trembles.

"My sweet Susannah," he says into her hair. "You already are."

He bites his tongue to keep from saying he loves her and pulls back. He watches her pull her dress back down hiding away her most intimate place.

Conversation carries on sluggishly.

The air is warm and sweet, lazy in the long grass. She and Elijah lie with their sides pressed together, Susannah's shoe pressing against Elijah's calf as they argue over the shape of the stars and Elijah tells Susannah several upsetting stories about deadly situations he's been involved in. He's not shy about the things he's done and Susannah wouldn't scold him. So she just listens.

It is probably the best night she's had since she was first taken out of the coffin and brought into an entirely different world.

* * *

She falls asleep in his arms, she dreams of blushing red apples, of biting into yielding flesh of ripe fruit. Of Elijah leaning in and biting into the other side. She taste the sweet, sun-golden juice running down her throat, joins with Elijah consuming until there is nothing but a core left.

Elijah tosses the core away and kisses her fingers and then her lips, harsh and bruising. Looks up at her, eyes burning red hot, and says, "They'll cast you out of Eden for this."


	15. Chapter 15

Elijah is almost ashamed to admit it, but it probably starts as he watches Susannah fall asleep, beneath the stars and in his arms.

It's such a human thing, and Elijah hardly even realizes it until it just is.

She's just lying there, on his shoulder with a clouded look in her eyes, and it takes Elijah a few seconds to realize the empath is exhausted.

And then a few more seconds for him to realize that this is nothing new. Susannah always looks like she is fighting a losing battle with exhaustion, and it seems she is giving into it, now apparently.

As Elijah watches Susannah get settled, moving until her head lies in his lap and her body curls, he's sorely tempted to ask if she is seriously going to fall asleep outside, but then the girl let's out a quiet moan and her eyes scrunch up in this adorable way, and something in Elijah catches at the sight.

Susannah's blinks are considerably slower and her mouth pouts slightly. He hears her start to hum to herself and it's a song the original doesn't recognize that she's decided to use as her own lullaby. It's probably the most adorable thing about the empath, and Elijah's heart swells in his chest. He just watches, mesmerized by the fact that this temperamental, rollercoaster of a girl can even _reach_ such a peaceful state.

It's almost unheard of, and Elijah can't look away even if he wanted to.

"Shooting star," She murmurs looking blurrily at the sky. "Make a wish, Lijah."

He feels a pleasant shiver run through him at the way tiredness in Susannah's mouth distorts his name. It's said with a sweetness, a softness akin to love and other reverent things.

"It's actually a comet, but I'll still make one, my lovely Susannah," he makes a point to say every syllable of Susannah's name, his voice quiet enough so it doesn't pull her away from her exhaustion.

Susannah shifts once more, and then settles. Elijah can tell she's found the perfect position from the way her facial features just… relax. She exhales softly, and she suddenly looks _so young...so unburdened_ that he almost doesn't recognize her.

She reaches for his hand and whispers, this beautiful creature already half- asleep, "Would it be really weird to ask you to rub my belly?"

Elijah chuckles, even in tiredness she is still wholly unpredictable. He wastes no time complying, over the fabric of her dress he rubs her stomach in gentle circles, as Susannah let's out soft purrs of appreciation. Just like a kitten.

As difficult as it is to believe, Susannah is _so much_ prettier when her features are softer; when she's not holding onto all that tension and scorn. She starts humming again, and her eyes inch closed, once more.

It's slow, and then it's just not.

Elijah notices the moment she slips into unconsciousness, because her lips part slightly, and her fingers unclench.

Susannah Bennett is asleep.

Elijah thinks it's truly a testament to how far they've come in their… friendship that Susannah feels comfortable enough to do such a thing in his presence. Being asleep is such a vulnerable state, and the mere fact that Susananh is able to do it in Elijah's arms warm him. It had been much different the night of the accident, Susannah needed him them. She was emotionally weak, physically scarred, and mentally drained. Right now, Susannah is simply herself.

Her skin just looks so smooth, and her relaxed face makes Elijah feel calm, settled and comfortable.

She is a restless sleeper, but not a light one. She shifts and mutters and sometimes turns further into him, sometimes away. Her head migrates around his lap and her eyes flicker under closed lids, her eyelashes slightly damp.

Elijah can't seem to get over how _different_ she truly looks, and he finds himself staring for longer and longer periods of time.

Time that flies past without him even realizing.

It's the buzzing of Susannah's phone that pulls him back into reality, he checks the time and his eyes shoot wide. One a.m. The Mikaelson doesn't necessarily have anywhere to be, but he supposes Susannah would rather be at home, in the comfort of her home, in her bed.

Wait.

 _Is_ Elijah supposed to wake her?

No.

He doesn't want to die.

But he'll probably die if he _doesn't_ wake her.

He sighs, and quickly realizes no matter what he does, he will be looming over her when she awakes.

"Susannah," he says, so softly, attempting to rouse her. "Sweetness, it's time to wake up."

Nothing.

A little louder, Elijah says, "My love, it's time to go home."

Nothing, again.

He moves his hand to touch her shoulder, the skin beneath his touch is warm, but he's trying not to think about that.

Instead, he gently shakes, and says, "Susannah, please wake up."

And, she does.

It's slow.

 _So slow_.

Her eyes flutter as she comes to, her mouth automatically curving into the most beautiful smile Elijah has ever seen. Her arms shift as she prepares to stretch, but it all comes to a screeching halt when her eyes focus and she sees Elijah Mikaelson.

Just like that, the peace is gone, and Susannah is scrambling away, disorientated and irritated.

She blinks three times in quick succession, and then says, "You were touching me."

He bristles somewhat, she makes it sound so...sordid. "I was trying to wake you."

Susannah's eyes narrow. "You could have done it without touching me," she accuses, her hands fly to her hair in a desperate attempt to soothe down her wild curls.

He fights off a smile. "Have I done something wrong sweetheart? Is there something I should be apologizing for?"

Silence.

Susannah tilts her head, glaring at the original. "You know I'm trying to be less antagonistic. It's not particularly easy for me, because it goes against every fiber of my being. It's like my default setting and you- you make it ridiculously hard."

And that was verging on cute. Elijah resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and never let her go.

"Your fingers were in my hair," she points out.

"You have beautiful hair, Susannah," Elijah compliments with a pleasant smile. "Do you know that you hum when you're falling asleep?"

A blush stains her cheeks, and her eyes dart away. "Excuse me...?"

"You hum when you are falling asleep."

Susannah gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment. "Yeah," she murmurs; "I kind of had to learn how to self-soothe from a young age."

Neglect.

It's not clearly said but he hears it all the same.

"We should go," Susannah stands before the original can say another word.

* * *

"Thank you," Susannah said softly. Twisting her fingers together. She didn't often feel uncomfortable with the original, but out of nowhere a strange nervousness has grasped at her, making the air around her seem out of place. More transparent and with a clarity that she felt trapped in.

"For what?"

Her voice was weak and creaky when she spoke again. "For putting up with me. For taking me home. For letting me sleep on your lap. The list really does go on."

She can't help but feel like Elijah's attention is nothing more than pity for a lonely soul. Carol Lockwood, had insisted as much...the idea felt like barbed wire piercing through her lungs.

Elijah grasped her hand, and her fingers tingled where they touched. She was reminded of South American dart frogs, known for secreting poison from their skin, because it seemed as though Elijah's touch was toxic. It always left her breathless and dizzy, and she felt as if she would fall the moment he let go.

At Elijah's continued silence, she rushed to explain herself.

"I'm not easy to care for."

"But no less deserving of that care."

She laughs, a rolling giggle. "What am I to you?"

"That's a boring question. Come now, you can do better than that."

Maybe it was the way his accent wavered, the way it tripped and catched over the consonants. But something was...off.

"It's not," Susannah dropped her gaze. "It's really not. I know you've thought of it."

"I have," The original agreed. The look in his eyes caused her instincts to rile up, begging her to recoil. To back away. She wouldn't dare do such a thing.

He exhaled slowly, a soft sweet sort of sound from the back of his throat.

"Will you give me an answer?"

Elijah tilted his head. A barb one designed to cut through Susannah's forced measure of calm tore out of his mouth. "What are you to yourself, Sweetness?"

She shook her head, hard enough that her hair jumped up and hit her cheeks, skittish and almost angry. She wanted to lash out, because she hated that question.

There was a cold sensation of truth as her thoughts clicked into place.

"I don't want to lead you on," Susannah replied.

"I'm the one leading," Elijah pointed out, the twist of amusement in his tone was obnoxious at best. There was something else though, something that caught and stuck to Susannah's ears.

"I'm not talking about our conversations," she retorted, impatient.

He pulled the car smoothly into the driveway, a grin making itself known on his cheeks. He swiftly turned the car off and gave Susannah all of his attention.

"Nor was I," Elijah said amiably. He tugged Susannah closer, though his grip was loose and not restricting. Susannah could slip away any time she liked- it was a power play. Elijah was giving her the option to pull away, because it just made it all more significant when she didn't.

Susannah met his eyes. Since she had met Elijah it was getting easier for her to look into everyone's eyes. He kept on a bemused grin.

"What do you want with me."

"You've asked me that before," Elijah reminded her.

"And you've yet to answer the question to my satisfaction, so until you do so I will keep asking," Susannah snapped. "You're successful, brilliant, you could have anyone."

"The theory relies on false assumption," Elijah bites out. "You claim you don't want me, but here you are. You are perfectly capable of turning down unwanted advances, I've seen it myself."

"I respect you," Susannah said. "Doesn't mean I want to fuck you."

The crass language in front of him almost made Elijah laugh. Susannah, it seemed would never let her surroundings stifle her language.

"You know what I think," Elijah said lightly. "I think you don't know what you want. I think you've had everything taken from you, and you're still trying to get it back. You can't look forward yet- but you will have to, eventually."

"You don't think I deserve to have my life back?" Susannah cut out, her words glass meant to dig into the skin.

"I think you deserve a life far better than the one you had."

"And you decide what that life is?" Susannah asked tightly, not willing to concede an inch of ground to the charming original.

"Of course not," Elijah said. "That decision had always been yours, sweet Susannah. Just as soon as you are ready to make it."

He should be concerned.

She was dangerous for him in a million other little ways he couldn't admit to himself. Like the way she brushed her hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, or the little squeal she let out when she was excited. Or the subtle change in the tone of her voice when she was starting to fall asleep. And that was saying nothing of the way she made him laugh, the way she sighed a little when she was nervous about sounding emotional or vulnerable.

But he could be dangerous just as well.

As if to test her Elijah leaned forward.

Almost as if he intended to kiss her.

Her heart stumbled, racing forward, begging for something. Anything.

His hand darted forward cupping her cheek, his thumb soothing over her bottom lip with her mouth parting just so at his touch.

The intensity in his eyes made her falter for a second. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, the fine cloth around the buttonhole uncharacteristically wrinkled. That is where she laid on his chest, a blush covers her cheeks.

"I keep taking you by surprise, don't I?"

And that was just it.

Elijah Mikaelson has lived long enough to know people, their actions, their motivations. He doesn't know her.

"I am well aware you would be doubtful of my attraction."

"Yes," they shared the same breath, pressed that close. "But you expected me to ignore it. To pretend I didn't see it so you would have more time to work out your _grand seduction_."

"I think you're delving too far into your own mind, Susannah."

"I think there is something you aren't telling me." She replied quickly, unwavering. "Something that has to do with you and me, something...intimate, maybe. I don't know. What aren't you telling me, Elijah?"

She can think of a thousand words to describe his current attention, meticulous, rigorous, exhaustive, detailed, methodical.

And overall: inescapable.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I could look deeper into your mind and find out."

"You won't."

"It'd be a nice twist, don't you think?"

Her fingers curled tighter against the labels of his shirt. Holding him close.

"Are you so certain that I am keeping something from you?"

"You keep many things from me," Susannah whispered. "But this specific secret is more deliberate. You don't want me to know about it because it has to do with me."

Susannah thought of the pure adoration in Elijah's eyes when she taunted Damon. She thought of the way Elijah's jaw twitched when other men even looked at Susannah, the smile was too tight and she could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. She thought of well controlled reactions and carefully calculated words and timed movements, like every single minute detail in Elijah's life was turned to perfection. Unnaturally so.

"You know what they say," Elijah whispered back, "about glass houses. One shouldn't throw rocks."

"God, Elijah, sometimes.." she shook her head and laughed softly.

"What?" He asked, his voice direct and inordinately heavy. Her smile fell, and she felt like she was inching towards the edge of something that could completely ruin her in more ways than one.

"You're..." Susannah blushed, brushing some hair away from her face. "You aren't so bad. Not bad at all, really."

"There, see you didn't even burst into flames admiting you like me," Elijah grinned smugly. "That's progress, my love."

 _That's a new pet name. My love. My love._ It echos over and over and over again.

This time, Elijah doesn't smile; it falls from his face until there is nothing left but intent, and Susannah echoes him. Maybe she feels it: that thing deep inside her soul that Elijah is searching for.

"Let's just get inside."

And like the gentleman he is, Elijah slid over to open her door. But before her feet could touch the ground he swooped her up into his arms.

Susannah buried her fist into the labels of Elijah's shirt, clinging to him as he lifted her out the car. She didn't want to question why he carried her, too happy and pleased at being held, to worry about that at all.

"Okay," she murmured lightly.

It didn't take long for him to bring her to the front porch where he placed her down. She swayed a little on her feet, but was otherwise okay. Digging into her pocket she produced a single key and Elijah nearly laughed at how she struggled to insert it properly.

"I have to warn you...I have dogs. Strays I picked up after Shelia died. It's impressively sad how many dogs get abandoned in Mystic Falls, and they rely on me, you know, and I have dogs to remind me the world is more a beautiful place then I know it to be...you probably collect art for the same reason-"

"You intend to invite me in?" Elijah asked with an odd look on his face. As if she had just slapped him or maybe kissed him.

"Yes? I mean unless you don't want to come in...I just thought-"

"No," Elijah said abruptly fast. "I would be honored to be allowed to enter your home, Susannah."

Susannah smiles too, and crosses her arms.

"How fucking convenient."

Elijah's eyes flash as he inches closer. Presses two hands on either side of Susannah, caging her in. "Such crass language you use."

"You don't allow it in your house, do you?" Susannah teases. "Too bad that we are at mine then, huh?" This is fun, she just loves getting a rise out of this man. "It's my house," she says with a smirk. "And I can say whatever the fuck I want."

Elijah gives her a look that tells Susannah she might want to reconsider that once they are inside. But they are not. And Susannah, the homeowner, is feeling particularly playful.

"If you're quite finished," he says sharply, expression dark and thunderous.

 _The phoenix must burn._ She tried to imagine cold around her but the flames burned too high.

"I am," Susannah says sweetly. "But I do have some requirements. You aren't allowed to hurt my dogs."

Elijah's eyes returned to her and it was like their depths were bottomless. If Susannah wasn't careful she could quite easily fall in and never resurface. "You do not have to be afraid of me, Susannah. I will not harm you or your pets."

Susannah stared at him and knew he was telling the truth. "No lies between us," she mused.

She very well knew there were plenty lies between them, just as she knew she didn't want any there.

She made herself busy by opening the door and falling inside the darkness of the house. "Mr. Mikaelson, won't you come in?"

And Elijah feeling particularly bold swept her off her feet, and in a blur pushed her body into the furthest wall, slamming the door closed as he did. She gasped, her eyes glowing with amusement as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Well then," she said with a breathless laugh. "Welcome to my humble abode."

A series of sharp barks dance in the air and he watches in complete satisfaction as something unbearable soft makes Susannah look delicate. She immediately drops to her knees and the dogs swarm around her, nuzzling her and giving her more affection than he'd ever seen Susannah willingly accept.

His eyes widen. "You have _five_ dogs...it's rather interesting, truly, you prefer dogs but you behave like a cat."

Susannah glares at the smirking original. "I do not behave like a cat. Although there would be nothing wrong if I did. The only reason I don't own any is because Hades doesn't know how to behave himself. And besides, Elijah, if anyone behaves like a cat it's you."

"Oh?"

"Yea, you remind me of one of the house cats that refuse to stay outside and hates getting it's paws wet," she grins happily, finding wild amusement in the comparison.

"How you mock me."

Dramatically the man places a hand over his heart, as if mortally wounded.

Susannah rolls her eyes. " _I know it's a lot but...I like dogs_."

"I suppose its easy to see why," Elijah says idly. "Affectionate, exuberant, unquestionably loyal, and unconditional love. Certainly less trouble than humans, although perhaps less rewarding on occasion."

"You wouldn't say that if you owned one."

"Perhaps."

"Not that most vampire's own dogs," adds Susannah. "They own people instead, particularly witches."

Elijah doesn't answer immediately and Susannah wants to bite back her words. Then she glances up and is relieved to see no indignation or resentment. He is merely gazing at her with a sphinx like smile.

"Undoubtedly there are some of my kind that feel that way," says Elijah thoughtfully. "But the ideal should not to be to objectify or subjugate but to provide a mutually assured agreement that benefit both parties. Revere them, even."

"Well what if we don't want to be revered?" Susannah shot back. "What if they just want to be treated as equals."

"Why does one prelude the other?"

"You're talking in theory. I'm talking in practice."

"You own?"

"Not quite," she adds thinking of Bonnie, and as typical a swell of rage grasps at her heart. Susannah wishes she could just shake the young Bennett hard enough to see her own self worth, to see that she doesn't have to give everything up to be acceptable in the eyes of Elena fucking Gilbert. "Maybe I'm just unlucky in the type of vampire's I've met."

"And what type is that?"

"Oh I don't know," she responds, already tired. "Controlling, arrogant, authoritative, domineering. I understand witches can be judgemental it just seems as if consistently witches are left to be used as tools. But I suppose you are going to say _not all vampires?_ "

"I suppose I could, but I don't intend to. That would be deflecting your criticisms rather than engaging with them."

She smiles at that.

Digging her hand into, Hades's the brown dog with a shaggy coat, soft fur.

"Such compassion," he murmured, amused, "reserved only for animals."

"And sometimes for you."

There was a shy moment of silence, were Susnannah actively did all she could to avoid looking anywhere near Elijah. While Elijah did everything he could to try and find her gaze.

Susannah turns her back, closing a few drawers, hiding certain things from view.

To see Elijah in the only place she considers home, her territory, was fascinating. He was certainly out of place, on the old creaky floors that didn't glimmer and shine.

Despite everything, the bargain, the light maybe companionship blooming between them...Susannah remained uncertain about whether or not she should let this man anywhere near her, let alone engage in friendly relations.

"They will calm down once they get to know your scent," Susannah told him. "They've never smelt you before."

Elijah looked up at Susannah. "But they have smelled me on you."

Elijah hadn't worded it as a question so Susannah chose not to answer. She didn't need to anyways.

There was silence again, with Elijah seemingly compiling everything he knew about Susannah into a place in his mind. And Susannah shuffling awkwardly feeling somehow stupid for assuming Elijah would want to come in.

The dogs were well behaved, and although the Mikaelson didn't really have a overbearing love for them he did give them a few pets and scratches, at the very least, a reward for caring for Susannah when he couldn't.

The space around him was so utterly Susannah Bennett that Elijah felt like he was standing inside her mind, split down the middle by society's specifications.

The doubles.

That was, however, an anomaly.

Things came in pairs when they could, the two bottles of perfumed rose water, for scenting the house with a pleasant aroma. Two identical copper kettles sat beside the sink; two rugs in the front hall; two photographs on the mantle; two light fittings.

Symmetry.

Everywhere he looked he saw it. Two chairs and two couches in the living room, two taps on her temple when she was stuck on a problem, bowls of decorative items held pairs of each.

Symmetry was order, and order was control, but...he wondered if it was simpler than that.

He wondered if sometimes he tried to overcomplicate Susannah, when really he should take the problem back to its root. Something ingrained, deeply so, something that would have to come from youth where the mind was still malleable and susceptible to programming.

Elijah is drawn from his thoughts when a sound goes off upstairs.

His hand tightens into a fist.

"There are two people here. I can hear a heartbeat and smell the scent of another."

The Mikaelson falls forward, grabbing the girl and pulling her directly behind him and closer towards the door. Just in case something bad happens she can run. Protecting her.

"Don't worry," Susannah said tapping Elijah's shoulder to get his attention. "It's just Bonnie and Caroline. Although I have no idea why they are here." She shouts the last part, letting her voice carry up the stairs.

Caroline slides down stairs first, a dog toy in one hand and treats in the other. Bonnie stumbling just behind her. They aren't drunk but certainly not sober.

"Can I just say," Caroline begins spreading her arms out and tossing the treats out accidentally, which the dogs immediately run to consume. "You two are so cute together. Also, we weren't going to steal your dogs, Susannah. Just borrow them."

* * *

"I can't believe you two," Susannah snapped. "It's _two freaking A.M_ and you two tried to steal my dogs-"

"Not steal!" Bonnie replied. "Just borrow," she casted a nervous glance at the original who was watching this all in bemused silence.

"Get your own dogs then! And now, kindly remove yourselves off my property."

"But you have so many," Caroline pouted dropping to the floor to let Loki run up to her, she immediately wraps her arms around him and holds him close. "And see they love me."

Susannah huffed a breath, crossing her arms when Bonnie wildly gestured to the original beside her.

"And what where you planning to do, huh?" The younger Bennett raised a brow. "Inviting a man in at 2am?"

Susannah cannot decide between her several options of action. To smack or not to smack? To set on fire or not set on fire? To kill or not to kill. All so tedious, really.

"We are just friends."

Caroline and Bonnie look at her incredulously. "Yeah right," they say simultaneously.

"You know, breaking into someone's house is a crime."

Caroline rolled her eyes so hard that Susannah thought they may just roll out of her head. "You and Bonnie are related, it doesn't count then. And I'm your favorite out of all Bonnie's friends."

"That's not saying much considering who Elena is. And by the way, completely untrue, Matt's my favorite. He consistently feeds me for free and you never do."

"If I may interject," Elijah says smoothly with a charming upturn of his lips, giving the girls an amused wink. "Ms. Forbes and Ms. Bennett truly meant no harm-"

"I can't believe you are on their side." Susannah stormed off somewhere upstairs, most likely to change into something more comfortable than her black dress and heels. "Traitors, the lot of you."

Caroline let's out a laugh, ignoring Susannah's loud mutterings. And Bonnie watches the Original, her eyes hold no direct malice but they certainly hold no warmth either.

When their eyes meet she gets the same feeling she gets from Susannah. Like she is being cleaved in two by the pure intensity behind that gaze.

She wants to threaten him even though she knows it will roll off of him like nothing, so when Bonnie steps forward, the words armed on her lips, she is shocked when the man before her stiffens and abruptly pulls back.

"Ms. Bennett," he begins carefully. "I do not mean to overstep...but if I may ask, have you been around any new vampires?"

Bonnie crosses her arms defensively, her body language so much like Susannah, the Mikaelson has to hold back a smile. "No, why would-" her voice dies off when the realization hits her. "Why?"

"It seems you have been scent marked by-" Elijah pauses thinking of a way to delicately phrase this. "Niklaus."

"Nik?" Bonnie's eyebrows jumped up.

"Who's Nik?" Caroline jumped in, staring at her bestfriend with wide blue eyes.

"Scent marked?" Susannah murmurs, walking down the stairs in nothing more than some shorts and a tank top. Elijah's mind falls blank and the sight of so much skin, skin that looks soft and smooth and delicate, he has to regretfully turn away and force himself not to stare.

But if the smug smile on Caroline's face is anything to go by, he has been caught.

"Sometimes, when my kind intends to mark another, they will leave their scent as an indicator for others to know that they are claimed."

Caroline lifts an eyebrow, snapping her fingers. "That's why you smelled so weird!"

"I smelled weird all day and you didn't say anything!"

"Well not like bad weird, but just different."

Bonnie glances nervously at Elijah. "How do you know Nik?"

Susannah and Elijah share a quick look.

"I suppose you would know him better as Klaus and he is my brother."

The air is sucked out of the room.

Bonnie falls into a chair a wild look on her face, as she rocks herself back and forth.

"Bonnie," Susannah began quietly. "Why do you know him as Nik?"

"That's what he introduced himself as...in my dreams."

The silence is deafening.

The words roll around Elijah's head and when the realization hits him, he looks over at Susannah. It seems fitting that both Elijah and Niklaus would find their mates carrying the title of Bennetts. He doesn't want to overwhelm the poor girl but he must warn her.

"Niklaus wants you."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Bonnie said, her eyes suspiciously moist.

Elijah hesitated. "Niklaus is an inventor, brighter than us all. But he has changed," Elijah said thoughtfully. Then he leveled a gaze at Bonnie. "Yes. I think that should frighten you very much."

Susannah finds herself going rigid and still; every muscle straining and each nerve vibrating as one-by-one the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Listen," Susannah growls making everyone fall silent. "Listen. Can't you all hear that?"

Bonnie's expression creases in confusion, as Caroline and Elijah's harden. Their eyes going to the westward window. It's faint...so barely there, but unmistakeable.

"Someone's screaming," Susannah says. And it's at that precise point that every single light in the house cuts out: plunging everything into darkness.

* * *

The initial startled cries when everything went black have now been overtaken by something closer to genuine dread as the sound of screaming, so faint at first, gets louder and louder until it abruptly cuts off in a gurgling cry. It's wild and terrified like something in an abattoir as its life leaks away: a scream of mortal terror.

Bonnie flinches with shock at the sound.

And then nothing. It's dark and quiet, and Susannah, Caroline and Bonnie have all unconsciously huddled around each other.

With Elijah standing taller than Susannah has ever seen him.

"Listen to me," he says, low and intense. "I think this is…" Then he hesitates in spite of himself; bizarrely reluctant to voice the suspicion out loud as if saying it is somehow going to make it real. "The three of you need to go somewhere where there are no windows, no easy access from the outside and take the animals with you. You will be safe as long as you stay inside." he says, shifting straight to the point instead. "Get out of here now."

"What about you, Elijah?" Susannah voices her body dropping to the floor and picking up Athena, while Bonnie grabs Loki. The other dogs, Delilah and Hades, are handled by their collar by Caroline.

"I will-"

"I'll go with you."

"No, Susannah." Elijah levels her with such a look that nearly has her cowering. "This is not negotiable. **_You will go. Now_**."

"Susannah," Bonnie says, grabbing onto her arm, more terrified than she would like to be.

"But-"

"You said you wanted to trust me," Elijah tilted his head watching her. "Where those just words, Susannah?"

Suddenly everyone's eyes are on her. Judging her. She glared at the original because she hadn't wanted him to repeat that. In front of everyone.

"Why do you always pick the most inconvenient times to remember things?"

He tilted his head, and stared back at Susannah, not blinking. "I remember everything."

"Yeah, well we are gonna have to talk about appropriate times to share what you remember."

"Is this conversation really at all important right now?" Bonnie whispers harshly.

"Shh," Caroline whispered back. "You're ruining the drama."

"Okay...um, focus...okay so-" Susannah closes her eyes. "The only room without any windows is the-"

Elijah makes quick work of covering her mouth. "Do not say it out loud. Go."

Susannah turns on her heels ushering the girls towards the kitchen, and then into the pantry, and finally towards the door that leads to the basement.

* * *

His eyesight supernaturally mutated and piercing through the dark. Could see how the trees swayed in the fierce winds, looking for any sign or movement.

He followed the scent of blood, keeping himself slow and steady. Prepared.

He comes upon a girl.

Naturally Elijah placed her physical attributes as being altogether similar and dissimilar to Susannah. This girl's curls, for example, were dull where Susannah's were lovely. This girl was tan where Susannah was golden. This girl was thin where Susannah was elegantly slight. So similar, so different.

The young woman grinned at him, delirious through her pain, and it was nothing like staring at the sun.

"Hey," the young woman said with heavy-lidded eyes. Brown and not gold. "You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Elijah nodded.

"You're a strange one," she'd crooned in her too-high voice. The pitch of her words and the ribbons she wore in her hair made her seem childish, and it annoyed the man sitting stoically before her.

Her head lulled to the side and her death came swiftly.

Elijah certainly looks dangerous at the moment; unnaturally still, eyes dark and focused so intently on the body splayed out against the tree that it's a wonder to anyone watching that the dead girl doesn't burst into flames or something equally extreme. His fangs are down, poking out from beneath his upper lip, and he looks positivelywrathful.

For all the proof anyone has seen of the vampire's iron-clad self control, he worries fiercely that everyone in the vicinity might be collateral damage should it finally snap.

Because she looks just enough like Susannah.

And seeing Susannah lifeless...is...

"Childish," a voice said from behind him. "In my opinion, anyways. But Niklaus was rather... _compelling_ in his orders."

Facing the man, Elijah's gaze softened in familiarity.

"Dimmond."

"Hello old friend, it seems Niklaus intends to punish you by using me as a tool," he sighed pleasantly as if the very idea was nothing. "I have been ordered to kill your darling by noon today, for, and I quote "your disobedience", your brother is dreadfully full of himself, don't you agree?"

"Quite," Elijah said. "Why would he let you remember such orders if I'm to believe them."

"You know your brother. He wanted you to make a choice: your friend or your lover."

Elijah, for all his micro-expressions and carefully schooled reactions, is at the moment very easy to read. Dimmond considers that it's a pretty good thing that they're alone, because if anyone else saw him, there would be no question to even the dullest of the dull that the man is something other.

He is other, and he is furious.

The sound of leaves beneath foot caught his attention.

And there she was.

Her eyes shone beyond human brightness, with an outer ring of maroon, impossibly golden irises, and pupils like slits. Dangerous eyes. Abnormal and unsettling. Any man would be hard-pressed to describe them without waxing poetry by sheer necessity.

"I told you to stay inside." The original spoke to the newcomer.

She reaches out and wraps her hand around Elijah's wrist, her fingers sliding up under the cuff of his shirt to find and touch bare skin, only a shade warmer than the cold air around them. Then that sharp gaze snaps to her, and Susannah is proud of the fact that she doesn't cower away, because she kind of wants to.

"Susannah," he rasps, and even his voice sounds like something monstrous. He's looking at her like he's surprised to find her standing there beside of him, alive and well, instead of cold and lifeless, discarded.

"I don't tend to let men control me."

There's a few beats of silence.

"You're one of those...magicians?" Dimmond said softly. He'd not taken his eyes from her as she'd examined him, and now his gaze intensified. "Eyes like a wild thing. Two blades."

The witch's stamp wasn't violent, wicked, or hateful, but it was more power contained in a single individual than the man had ever sensed, and it stung.

"I haven't introduced myself," Susannah grumbled weakly when she could speak again. "But someone has already introduced you to me, it seems."

He was an older man, Susannah knew, but only because she could feel the years. But the look of his face alone betrayed no absolute age

He appraised her with wolfish eyes as she approached.

Throwing a side glance at the original who hovered too close to her side. Elijah's fingers dig into her arm, just barely, pulling her closer so minutely that Susannah knows no one would notice.

"Our mutual friend enjoys controlling even simple things, like introductions," the man said pointedly. "I'm glad for it on this occasion. You are rare gift, Susannah. Be still my heart." He shot her a charming wink.

Susannah opens her mouth to respond when her attention is stolen.

The body is revealed to her in stages as she goes. First, the worn blue jeans—or they were blue, they're red now with blood—that cover the legs that are attached to the boots. Then, the beginnings of a faded plaid button-down shirt, laying in tatters amongst the ruin of the girl's chest.

She raises her eyes to the victim's face, and even though she knows already what she will see before she sees it, she's woefully unprepared. Dark, curly brown hair. Brown skin. Glasses, knocked askew over sightless brown eyes that seem to be staring right at Susannah, through her, as if in accusation.

She's not sure if she actually makes a sound, or if Elijah just feels the shift in her.

"Susannah?" he calls, and Susannah can hear the scuff of his shoes against the forest floor.

Susannah turns to meet him just as he appears, and his eyes flicker from her, to the woman who could be her twin, and back again. Susannah smiles, a tight, pained thing, her lips trembling as she answers.

"It's me."

This girl is dead for having the misfortune of similar resemblance to her.

And Elijah, the man who despises seeing Susannah uncomfortable (unless he of course is the one to do it) makes a regretful noise and summons himself to her side.

That selfish part of her is thankful that it is not her, and it's this part of herself that she's so ashamed of.

She closes her eyes trying to wash away the image.

"Put those away," she warns, but her voice is gentle. She opens her eyes and keeps all of her focus on Elijah, more importantly his mouth...his fangs.

Elijah stares at her in silence for a moment, before he seems to shake himself, and begins to draw his humanity back around him like one of his fine suits, piece by piece. Susannah watches, morbidly fascinated, as the life returns to Elijah's lightless eyes and his fangs disappear with a curl of his lip, leaving behind his fairly normal-looking human teeth.

"My apologies," Dimmond says lightly. He actually looks regretful.

"Can I have a moment with the...dead girl," Susannah asks quietly.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Dimmond replies, wiping the blood from his lips. A part of Elijah seethes at the sight of it.

"Susannah can make her own decisions."

He says it softly, the words gentle in his exotic accent. Outwardly, Elijah looks congenial as he always does, but Susannah feels the razor-sharp side of that smile like an electric undercurrent. She stiffens, feeling that same ominous dread she did moments before, like they're two steps away from a bloodbath.

"I'm right here, you know," she says, partly because she's irritated with being talked about, partly hoping to break through the tension she feels growing thicker in the air by the moment as Elijah and Dimmond stare each other down.

Elijah smooths down his lapels, a gesture that strikes Susannah as odd, since she's never seen the man come remotely close to showing any emotion as banal as agitation.

It's only more proof how out of sorts he is, how affected he is by the scene before them, and it makes Susannah nervous, like her anchor has slipped its hold.

Her eyes slide back over to the dead girl. And it hits her mind like a lightening bolt.

"She doesn't just look like me," Her eyes move over to Dimmond. "You thought she was me. But when you saw Elijah's reaction you realized...Niklaus told you that girl was me."

She shakes and Elijah is there when her body sags. "Let me go," she gasps out, unable to form any other thoughts, her teeth gritted until her jaw aches, her throat burning and hoarse as if she's been screaming to the top of her lungs for hours.

She can feel Elijah's cheek press against her, the bare scratch of his barely-there stubble, the skin beneath it cool and calming. His lips are by Susannah's ear when he speaks, his voice low and melodic and calming. "I will not," he replies, steady as always, his voice for once not soothing Susannah's ragged nerves.

Something in her, innate and utilitarian, jumped to the conclusion she previously made and sent out a loud message not to let her guard down. Under any circumstances.

"Susannah," Elijah is saying, although she can barely hear him over the sound of her own heart beating. Too loudly, she thinks, the blood pulsing hot and angry in her ears. So loudly, she wonders if Elijah can't hear it as it gallops through her veins.

"I don't understand...if you know you didn't actually kill me why aren't you trying now."

"He gave me a time. You have to be dead by noon. It is 3am. I can resist-"

"But you couldn't resist with her?" Susannah growls out. "Why, because she was human? Had no means to fight back, right?"

"You won't like my answers," Dimmond replies bluntly.

And Susannah's hackles raise. She steps forward and Elijah abruptly pulls her back.

"No," the Mikaelson growls in her ear.

"You don't control me, Elijah!"

"Susannah," Elijah says, in his fucking therapist voice, attempting to assuage the situation.

" _Elijah,"_ Susannah shoots back in the same tone of voice, mocking.

Dimmond's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. Luckily, he's staring at Susannah in his shock, and therefore misses the way Elijah looks at her like he's seriously considering jumping her right there, and having his way with her. It lightens Susannah's mood ever-so-slightly, to be the only one that knows Elijah has literally killed people for less cheek than what Elijah happily lets her get away with.

"Just undo the compulsion-"

"An original cannot undo another original's compulsion. They can add onto it...but we cannot undo."

Susannah laughed, a cold heartless thing.

"So who gets to do the honors of trying to kill me then?"

Elijah's eyes darkened. "You can't possibly believe that I would allow-"

It seemed unreasonable, irrational, and quite like the beginnings of a lie.

After all emotions are just like art. They can be taken, forged, and appear identical to the real thing.

Susannah scowled in confusion. "He's your friend, yes? You've known him longer than me. So I can _possibly_ believe that you would allow me to be killed."

"You are a fool if you think that to be true," Dimmond said quietly his eyes to the ground.

A low growling sound, like a wild animal being trapped in a cage much too small, came from Susannah's mouth. "I've provoked you before. I've offended you before, Elijah." She stepped forward. "Hell, I do it regularly. How far could I push you until you turned against me?"

A grumble rumbled deep and low from Elijah's chest. "To the ends of the earth."

Then she laughs. "You know what. I'll just die. Seems simpler."

Elijah glared at the girl. "That isn't funny."

* * *

"They've been gone for a really long time," Bonnie shakes, her fingers coming to grip on the dog closest to her.

"Yeah," Caroline whispers back. "You should go get the stake."

"Why don't you go get it?"

"Cause it was my idea to ask you first," replied Caroline as though that was the most sensible thing to be said.

"Damn you Caroline, you annoy the life out of me."

"Just shut up and get the damn stake."

"Why? So I could use it on you," Bonnie growls back.

"And you say I'm annoying."

"You are annoying."

"Okay," Caroline retorts. "But am I the who had vivid sex dreams with a vampire who turned out to be our greatest enemy and didn't tell my best friend?"

"What makes you think they were sex dreams?" Bonnie said incredulously, stamping down the immediate urge to lunge for her best friend and strangle her.

"Weren't they, Bonnie. Weren't they."

"No."

"That's a lie. You are a liar. Therefore, you should be the one to get the stake."

"You're a freaking vampire."

"And you're a freaking witch."

Both girls hold each other's eyes, glaring at one another.

"Yeah well I'm so stressed that sunlight hurts."

"It's night time," Caroline helpfully pointed out.

"There's sunlight somewhere."

"Um," Caroline said lightly. "Okay."

The door opens and both girl's jump, breaking their staring contest.

"Hey I need your help," Susannah says quietly. She looks lowered, as if all the happiness from before has been drowned out.

* * *

"I get the feeling she is not pleasant," Elijah opens his mouth ready to argue, to jump to his love's defence, when Dimmond raises a hand. "No insult, my friend. She is rather violent. Beautiful, but violent."

Elijah tilts his head, like an avenging goddess she is.

"Where oh where did you find her?" the poet asked the original sitting poised on the dirt.

"Would you believe me if I told you I found her here, in Mystic Falls?"

"No, I would not," Dimmond declared."The girl is a queen. You have kidnapped her from her royal bed, of that I am certain, and you will not convince me otherwise," he said. "I have half a mind to call after your brother and steal her for myself. She would be a sensation with a face like that. It's like staring into the sun to look at her. I can hardly bear it."

"She is truly...divine," Elijah said quietly. Reverently. He had always looked for a place of worship...and oh, how easily Susannah could put him on his knees.

"And just like the sun she is not interested in being easy on the eyes. Her beauty makes one flinch. Think twice before they reach out and touch."

The originals smiles then. "I find it suits me."

"Elijah Mikaelson has taken on a lover! The world's prickliest warrior with a heart of stone and abs of steel has chosen companionship over brooding solitude? Where is my quill? I must compose a sonnet for the girl who melted the statue!"

The original shoots the man a dry look.

"You know, a famous poet has once said their leader hunts for his mate as he prowls across the sky, the cavalry of death in his wake."

"I believe it was the poet Dimmond who said that," replied Elijah, straight-faced.

The poet pointed an accusatory finger at the original with a grin of triumph. "I knew you read my work." A slyness came over him suddenly, and he said, "You know, if I were looking for a mate, I'd be hard pressed to find one more pleasing than that girl you've been glued to all evening. Do you think she will be able to undo the compulsion? It has never been done before...after all."

"If not Susannah, then Bonnie would be able to. I have huge faith in both of them. They are the very definition of poweful," Elijah finally said.

"That delicate thing Niklaus has claimed?" said Dimmond incredulously.

"You know of her?"

"Niklaus warned that if I touched her or harmed her in any way, I would find myself without-" He paused and gestured towards his lap. "My manhood."

Elijah bites down a wry chuckle with a furrow of his brow. It seems the attachment Niklaus has for Bonnie runs much deeper than he initially thought.

"I have no doubts in the array of Bonnie's capabilities. I believe her untapped potential is vast," answered Elijah. "Susannah, however, has already tapped into her potential. I believe she wants Bonnie to be the one to do it however because the youngest Bennett would know Niklaus's mind, his presence better than her."

Dimmond opened his mouth to add something when, his jaw loosened at the sight of the three women walking towards him.

"Goddesses walk before me," he murmured lightly.

* * *

 ** _Okay so originally this was going to be much longer and include way more things but I didn't want to make a chapter too long, but there are so many twists and turns coming!_**


	16. Chapter 16

_"Bonnie."_

 _Bonnie turns, just slightly. She is sitting in a dark and deep leather armchair with the sort of brass studs that speak of old money. It smells of warmth and faintly cedar. Books line the walls, all first editions, some looking on the verge of crumbling._

 _"Long time no see," she says quietly._

 _Nik- no, Klaus is sitting across from her on a window seat, leaning back on one palm, and resting his opposite arm on his upraised knee. His suit is linen, a strange blue that reminds her of summer dawn. Daylight catches in the light and it bleaches into unreality. He has youth and romanticism in his gaze that seems forever locked on her. His pose is languid, unfocused, and intensely beautiful._

 _He opened his mouth, but Bonnie was ready. "I know."_

 _The words stretched out over the airwaves, thinning and snapping across the distance between them and pulling taunt. Two little words that sealed them together in a fate of their own making, and Bonnie felt the weight of them as she strained into the screaming silence, waiting for Klaus's reply._

 _"Do you now…."_

 _Enigmatic as ever, Klaus's tone gave nothing away beyond perhaps a mild, amused interest. The low growl vibrating in his ear told him his response did not sit well with Bonnie's mood. He smiled, almost able to see the snarl gracing the girl's lips._

 _"Oh yes, Klaus.I finally figured out why you've been in my head. It took a little bit longer than it should have, but that doesn't matter now. I see you all the same."_

 _The urge to push Klaus as off kilter as Bonnie herself felt was a strong one, an almost driving, clawing thing growing in her gut that drove her to pursue the predator in her dreams._

 _"And what do you see, my love? What shadows has your mind conjured to clothe me in? What titles would you crown me with, what crimes would you lay at my feet?"_

 _"You wish to kill my friend. You want to use me to do it."_

 _He nearly laughed out how wrong she was._

 _"I didn't realize friends targeted each other as openly as the doppelganger continously does to you, my apologies for being misinformed."_

 _The words dig into her chest and make her flinch. His fingers reach for her and she stands and walks to the furthest corner._

 _"Don't apologize for something you aren't sorry for."_

 _He grinned._

 _"You know who I am... yet you've brought no friends with you into your slumber," he says. Faintly puzzled, and maybe hopeful._

 _"No," Bonnie agrees._

 _"Why?"_

 _"They were busy. I was tired."_

 _"Tired and in need of sleep? Or tired of them coddling you for having the big, monstrous Klaus Mikaelson in your head?"_

 _He's moving towards her, trapping her in the corner. Go through him or the walls. She has a feeling the walls would be easier._

 _Bonnie grits her teeth. "Maybe both."_

 _Niklaus did his best to keep his lust from deepening his voice. "You aren't supposed to want this, love, you aren't supposed to hold on so tightly."_

 _Bonnie frowns because she's been trying. Trying to be normal, trying to feel normal._

 _"I'm not," she says. There's been nothing to hold onto. Just that strange emptiness that she doesn't know what to do with._

 _"You are," Klaus says quietly. "You've dug your fingers in so hard that I can feel you everytime I breathe, and I don't even need to breathe."_

 _Bonnie inhales, holds it in until it hurts then let's it be free._

 _She slithers round, slithers over and Klaus let's her, sliding up until she is warm and heavy and so close to him._

 _He should feel threatening. He should feel wrong in every way. But it's like she's lost the concept of personal space. Like it doesn't matter anymore._

 _"You stayed away. My cousin has a theory as to why you were able to get into my head. She said if she was right then you wouldn't be able to stay away."_

 _"Maybe I have better self-control than your cousin thinks," Klaus says with a smirk. Like the thought of Susannah knowing anything about him simultaneously amuses him and irritates him._

 _Bonnie frowns up at him, trying to read something, anything on his face. Because he's the one vampire she's met that gives when it comes to expression. Too much to follow sometimes. All slices of emotion, not always pretty, almost never kind. But they're there, so many of them._

 _Maybe that's the problem. There's so much there and Klaus knows how to use every last bit of it._

 _"I was trying," Klaus says eventually. "To stay away."_

 _"Why?"_

 _There's a slow blink and his arms are folded now, as if he's refusing to touch her._

 _"Because I'm greedy and vicious and broken and cruel," Klaus murmurs into the darkness, all breath and warmth. "And sometimes I like it."_

 _Bonnie thinks there is more in that confession then he intends there to be._

 _He chuckles again, his eyes flashing with too much intelligence._

 _"Are you trying to confront me, Bonnie...or lure me into a trap?"_

 _Klaus's voice was still smooth, still cultured and still amused, but the unlying growl sent dark shivers of anticipation down Bonnie's spine._

 _"I'm trying to invite you to play." Bonnie raises her eyes and meets his gaze head on. "Catch me if you can, **Nik**."_

 _He looks practically feral._

 _"The rules?"_

 _"As if you care for them."_

 _He tilts his head, serious and seductive. A manipulation. "I'd follow yours."_

 _Bonnie glares at him. "That's a lie."_

 _"I would still like to hear them."_

 _"You compelled a vampire to kill my cousin-"_

 _"She's not actually your cousin. You do know this, right? And believe me it wasn't anything personal, love. Elijah needs to be dealt with."_

 _Bonnie forced herself to remain calm, even though the words riled something up in her she truly did not want to acknowledge. "You compelled a vampire to kill my cousin," she parroted firmly. "Elijah claims an original can't undo another's compulsion. Susannah and I don't know Dimmond well enough to confidently enter his mind and erase your persuasion. That leaves me."_

 _"I suppose it does," Klaus touches her cheek and she can feel the death in his touch. She finds she doesn't mind it. "What do you intend to do love."_

 _"Catch me if you can. I'll be yours if you do and you'll leave my family, my friends, alone."_

 _She sees how much it tempts him. How willing he is to have a Bennett in his grasp._

 _"Sorry, love, I cannot play. Not this round anyways. But soon, soon I'll catch you and you will be mine."_

 _She promptly shut the door between them, closing off the link._

Her eyes flashed open and a rouge grin curved her lips. She was ready.

"I think I've felt enough of him to undo the compulsion."

* * *

Bonnie places on hand on the right side of Dimmond's temple, the other on Susannah's hand.

"If you get tired, take from me," the empath said quietly, her eyes intently focused and ready to intervene should anything go wrong.

Elijah holds Dimmond's left arm back and Caroline holds his right. Should he attempt to lash out, like Susannah did, they at least would be there to prevent him from immediately getting to the Bennett witches.

They all sit in side a circle of pale white candles, with only a wave of Susannah's hand they flicker to life. (And Bonnie can see the seedling crush Elijah's been harbouring over Susannah has grown into a goddamn botanical garden, if the way his eyes follow her are any indication at all).

"This will be painful," Bonnie informs plainly, she tries to keep her voice steady but it does waver.

Dimmond grins, self-assured and flirtatious. "At least I will know I have three goddess around to tend to me should the pain become unbearable."

All the girls let out laughs as Dimmond charmingly smiled, exposing a dimple on his cheek.

"Are you always like this?" Caroline muttered, tightening her grip.

"Caroline, my beautiful muse," he waxed, earning a rolled eye from everyone around, "cast aside these trappings of blade and dust. You belong in the glow of a spotlight, join me in the moonlight."

"That doesn't even make sense," The blonde replied bluntly.

Bonnie laughed lightly. "Ready, Dimmond."

"Yes."

Invading people's heads is not an easy task. Even when they seem open to it, willing, their minds rebel. So used to it's own consciousness, it's own confines, that a new prescense feels like a predator. There are barriers as well. Ones that can't simply be broken through without permanently damaging the person. A mind is a fragile thing after all.

Dimmond's arms try to snap out, to grab her, to break her, almost immediately, but Elijah and Caroline are much quicker. Holding him down.

She searches for Klaus, for the man she's come to know in her dreams. Digging and digging and digging.

Until, until there he is. Blarring red like a rogue forest fire, even in a mind that isn't his, the trace, the impact is astounding.

She swallows, gripping Susannah's hands tighter.

Following the string that is Klaus's compulsion, she gently tries tugging the knot apart with sheer force.

The screams that gurgle out of Dimmond, force her to loosen her attempts. The process of brute force would take too long and be too brutal to the man before her.

She needs...subtlety.

Bonnie breathes in through her nose, feeling a wetness drip down to her lip. She ignores it.

Slowly she grasps the knot and undoes it.

It's slow, exhausting work, painful if Dimmond's screams and gasps and pleads are anything to go by.

Her vision blurs and for a second her grip on Susannah's hand starts to slip. She doesn't want to use Susannah, wants to show she can be powerful and effortless too. Wants to be amazing.

But her magic understands itself too well and is already reaching towards Susannah.

The rush, the feeling of pure absolute power...its like touching a nuclear bomb that is still throbbing with new strength.

That is what Bonnie uses to carry her through the last bit.

When she finally pulls back, opens her eyes and sees, Dimmond is shaking before her and she is covered in sweat.

"Did it..." Bonnie coughs, her voice more raw than she anticipated it being. "Did it work?"

Dimmond let's out a pained laugh. "Seems so."

Caroline releases his arm and claps happily. "This is not at all how I thought my night would turn out."

Everyone there was in full agreement.

* * *

Elijah was getting ready to leave, say his final goodbyes when he caught Susannah's hand in his.

Emboldened, Elijah caught her wrist and urged the girl closer, his other hand falling to the girl's waist as he tipped his head down, seeking a kiss.

Susannah's smaller hand slipped between them, its mere presence upon Elijah's chest enough to stay him, though she didn't apply any force behind the action.

Elijah frowned down at her. "You want me," he declared, certain that he hadn't misread the situation, nor the unmistakable scent of the witch's interest.

Susannah's mischievous smirk flashed her gleaming fangs as gold-laced eyes danced with amusement. "So?" was her only reply, the monosyllabic response both a tease and a challenge, and then she was slipping out of Elijah's grasp.

"I'm not ready, remember," she threw over her shoulder casually.

* * *

"Enjoying yourself?"

Elijah calls, walking forward with a grin.

"Wondered when you would come back to see me, Elijah." She stands at the face of the tunnel. Her eye dark and glittering, even when her skin is sunken and pale. "Although it is an odd time for a visit...has something happened?"

The smugness, the twist at the corner of his lips tells him everything he needs to know.

"I'm guessing Niklaus paid you a visit."

Elijah often seems to be someone who's more brain than body, so coolly controlled and glacially calm that you could almost shiver in his air. And yet the promise of what lies beneath this outer coating – this veneer – is intoxicating.

"You would be correct." She grins.

He drew closer, shoes whispering across the stone, his shrewd eyes so focused as if not to miss anything.

"What did you tell him."

Katerina swallowed. "I've missed you, Elijah."

"I haven't," was his short reply.

"Of course you haven't," her voice was light, angelic...manipulative. "You've been sidetracked with the witch."

Elijah hadn't stopped and just stared at her like he used, took her in for all she was and...and made her feel beautiful. He simply breezed by, as if she were of no consequence or concern.

"Is she better than me?"

Elijah looks at her frowning. "What?"

Katerina's jaw clenches. "Is she better than me?" She repeats.

Elijah has an idea Katerina already knows the answer, but still he aks, "At what?"

Katerina meets his gaze. "At making you happy."

It's a loaded question, because Elijah isn't often very happy, even when he had been human the emotion was rather foreign. With Susannah, even in the short time they had spent together, all he can recall is a fire sending warmth through his body and making him feel...invincible. "Yes," he answers freely.

"And you never felt this way with me?"

Here, Elijah pauses. "I thought I did, possibly," he says, his eyes darting into the darkness.

Katerina nods sharply, her eyes falling closed. "And, is she _better_ than me?"

This time the meaning definetly isn't lost on Elijah. Sex, isn't however something he's comfortable discussing with Katerina. Especially concerning Susannah.

But if he had to say, it would be a most likely.

Susannah's an empath, she can feel what those around her feel...during sex most things are heightened, he would assume her empathy would make for a truly...expensive time.

At Elijah's extended silence, Katerina's face twists into comprehension. "Oh my God, the two of you haven't even fucked yet," she deduces crudely, surprised. Some men look at women like they want to have sex, Elijah looks at Susannah like they've already had sex and he's gotten addicted. "Damn Elijah, is she a prude?"

Elijah visibly bristles, his features darkening as his eyes narrow into slits. "Don't talk about her like that." He says coolly. "What is between us will always be more than sex."

Hurt flashes in her eyes, but it's gone in an instant. "Is that what we were, huh? Just sex?"

"Yes," Elijah says in an instant. "I didn't see it then."

"I love Stefan," she says, and her words come out as if she wants to hurt Elijah with them.

Elijah doesn't care. "If you really do, then I'm happy for you," he says. "I don't know what you were expecting. Did you assume I would wait for you to want me again when it was convenient to you?"

Katerina remembers the first time she saw Elijah and Susannah together.

Elijah had offered a hand to help Susannah to her feet at a place where the grass was a lovely green and the air light.

And Susannah takes it.

And then maybe holds on to it for a moment or two longer than strictly necessary as Elijah speaks to her in hushed tones that don't really carry all the way out to where Katerina was standing.

She's not exactly sure what gives it away. Maybe it's the way Elijah lingers at Susannah's side in a way that places his body directly between Susannah and anyone else who might need to speak to her. Perhaps it's the way Elijah's eyes can't seem to stay off of her. It might even be the way that they invade each other's personal space without a thought, hardly speaking but seeming to communicate, nonetheless.

She studies the ground.

"Why are you here, Elijah?"

"Because something seems off about all of this," Elijah says bluntly. "I am missing something and I have a feeling you've played a part in it."

"I don't-"

"Together you and Niklaus decided to target Susannah. Niklaus most likely because she is a threat to him...you, however, _you_ have your own reasons for attempting to remove her." Elijah was impartial and yet pleased at the same time. Or maybe he wasn't pleased at all. Reading Elijah was still a challenge in itself.

 _"Katerina, by the way, she loves you but she is also deeply afraid of you."_

 _"Why would you say that?"_

 _"Body language," Susannah shrugs," and the way she watched me, when I put distance between us, it was as if she was seeing something bizarre."_

 _"Katerina has always feared the web of my family. Being stuck in the web means you are always in fear of the spider at its centre."_

"If you truly loved her you would stay away from her."

Elijah Mikaelson, despite all his charm, is not a man with a heart of gold and softness.

Elijah's low tut is unnerving and he lets the silence linger long past where she's comfortable, her own mind screaming at her not to bother. The pressure cuts into her, presses her ribs together, steals her, and just when she thinks she might have forgotten how to inhale altogether, he tilts his head consideringly, side to side.

"What did you do Katerina?"

She shakes her head mutely, mind beginning to race with the thoughts of what she might have missed, and his lips curl, the superiority that clings to him bearing down on her heavily.

He leaves only to come back a second later with two bags of blood.

"It's okay to be frightened, there is no shame in that." His eyes darken further. "Sometimes there is only shame."

For a moment she thinks she has touched a nerve.

And then just as she begins to wonder what he could possibly be talking about, eager curiosity stretching out its long fingers, it's as though the rug is pulled from under her, Elijah changes his tone and the conversation. Her thoughts strain to follow. "Niklaus is not a forgiving man...people forget that I am not either."

Go back, her mind screams, craving to hear more of what makes this man fear, eager to see what she glimpsed in that moment in full, but it's a trap he's set, what she wants against what is necessary. She curses him silently and he once again the picture of calm, only looks pleasantly back.

She swallows and presses her luck. "I need something now." She finds more force in her than she believed possible. "I'm starving."

Her eyes linger on the bags.

He steps forward, right before the barrier and rips the bag open so the blood falls to floor.

"Feast," he declares waving his hand, a cruel little smile twisting on his lips.

Elijah inclines his head and turns away from her, he has given her something, she knows, but not nearly everything, likely not enough to truly help, but all the same, more than before.

Katerina falls to her knees, cupping what little blood she could manage in her hands and consuming. Like a dog licking water off the floor.

"Dimmond was Niklaus's idea. Your old, dear friend."

"I assumed as much."

"He knew Susannah wouldn't die by Dimmond's hands," Katerina added carefully.

It's strange to see a kind of light washing across his face, stark features warmed by what she can only label as affection as he chuckles lowly. "If attacked Susannah is more than capable."

Affection and pride.

She shrugs her shoulders and he watches her for another moment, the light ebbing slowly away again. "Why did he send Dimmond at all then if he knew Susannah would be capable of protecting herself?" A different kind of shading is gleaming in him now, hungry to torment her once more.

She presses her lips together, silent. Unwilling.

"You may seek more when you have proven yourself worthy."

He leans his head back, relaxed, she swears he's humming under his breath, her existence already forgotten.

"Because he knew you would come to me. He knew you would somehow find a way to undo the compulsion. Two Bennett's with you, how could you not. He knew Susannah would insist on being alone, wanting her isolation. He knew you would leave her."

She watches him for a moment more.

Elijah takes the blood bag and throws it against the wall furthest from her, so the scent will constantly taunt her. So close and yet...so far.

He leaves.

And a part of her knows that despite everything, she has lost and he has won.

* * *

"Dimmond? Why are you still here?"

There he stands dressed from head to toe in black. Black skinny jeans, black boots, black tank top and a black leather jacket. He looks like one of the goth kids she sees at Bonnie's school; his hair greasy and dark, his face pale, and Susannah is marginally sure he is wearing eyeliner.

Susannah steps outside at the sight of the vampire standing on the very edge of her driveway, closing the door her so her dogs stop trying to force their way outside.

But something is very...wrong.

For a moment she wants to grab her phone and call Elijah. But even she has limits to her patheticness. Her half-conscious brain clearly had a destination in mind that Susannah's aching heart isn't ready for. She needs time before she calls on Elijah again. She needs space, she needs to think.

Susannah is suddenly struck by how completely idiotic it is for someone who has bound to cross paths with a vampire, to not carry a weapon. She heaves another put upon sigh, because of course this is happening now.

Of fucking course.

Her grip tightens on the glass of water in her hands.

"Magician" Dimmond said, after a ridiculously long moment of staring each other down.

"Vampire," Susannah replies flatly, since she assumes they are stating the obvious. "If you're going to kill me, I'd appreciate if you made it quick. It's been a long fucking day."

Dimmond smiles, amused, and it's a horrific sight. It makes her skin crawl. "I'm not going to kill you, little witch," he coos, his voice garbled terribly by the excess of teeth in his mouth. "You're coming with me. Someone wants to meet you."

Her mind scrambles desperately trying to piece together why he is trying to kill her again. They got rid of the compulsion, Dimmond was leaving town- oh, Niklaus must have gotten to him again.

That has to be it.

She meets his eyes.

Not compulsion.

Betrayal.

Susannah barks a short laugh that echoes off her surroundings.

"Yeah, that's not going to fucking happen," she chuckles, watching as Dimmond shrugs his shoulders—a universal way of saying 'we'll see' that extends to the undead, apparently—before she winds up and throws her glass as hard as she can, beaning the creature right in his face.

She can hear the dogs just inside and if she opens that door they will run out and he could...no.

It lands with a sickening crack, and when it falls away Dimmond's nose is bent at an odd angle, and blood that smells horribly foul to Susannah, even with the distance between them, gushes out his nose and over his mouth.

He only _laughs_ , a horrific sound grinding through all those fucking teeth, and in one second the vampire is slamming Susannah into the concrete wall at her back, his hand on Susannah's throat, choking the life out of her and then slamming her head back against the concrete, knocking her focus.

He lifts her higher, her shoes scrambling a foot off the ground, and slams her into the wall again hard. Susannah's head makes contact with a sickening crack and her vision goes dangerously dim.

"Thought you weren't going to kill me?" she croaks as a thumb presses sharply against her windpipe.

Her hands scramble for purchase on the vampire's wrist, his skin cold as ice beneath her fingers as she tries desperately to loosen its grip enough to drag in one more breath.

"I've changed my mind," Dimmond snarls through his teeth, claws growing from the space where fingernails should be and digging deep into Susannah's flesh.

She feels her blood begin to run, the warmth of it stark against his cool skin, and watches as the Dimmond's nostrils flare at the scent. "You smell amazing," he whispers roughly. "What are you?"

"Not a vampire slayer, unfortunately," Susannah quips, her voice hoarse from the creature's grip, she can't even begin to focus well enough to use her magic, her mind is too blurred.

Too confused.

The vampire smiles again, a sick twist of lips over jagged teeth. "Maybe I'll see what's inside," he says, with an extremely disturbing, childlike glee.

Susannah sees a flash behind his eyes, and tries desperately to say no, to shake her head, anything, but it's too late. With his free hand, Dimmond is already pressing razor-sharp claws against Susannah's stomach, and they slide through muscle and fat like five searing hot blades slicing easily through cold butter.

Susannah tries to cry out in pain, but no sound leaves her lips thanks to the hand compressing her windpipe as easily as one might crush the brittle aluminum of a beer can.

She supposes she should be going into shock, but she feels every second of those clawed fingers digging into her belly, rearranging her insides, with perfect clarity. Feels her blood, burning hot, pouring forth from the wound, hears the pitter-patter of it as it splashes down onto the concrete floor below her like raindrops.

A low growl leaves the man as he lowers Susannah, still held fast against the wall, but low enough that her toes scrape the concrete floor, scrambling for purchase. His fathomless eyes slowly lower to her neck as her blood rushes out around its tearing claws that puncture there.

His tongue flicks out from within his mouth, licking at his teeth, leaving them dripping with saliva.

If she doesn't do anything she will die. She's not enough vampire...she hasn't fed enough to be able to come back from this.

She's not ready.

Without having to call it forth or coax it out, Susannah's power flares up, so much so that she feels the pressure of it behind her eyes and pressing against the inside of her skin in a desperate search for a way out.

She feels an instinct bubble to the surface and follows it without question, an instinct she's never had before, never had a reason to have before, even though she can't breathe and darkness is blooming around the edges of her vision.

She reaches out, grips Dimmond's face, lets go of the careful hold she unconsciously keeps on her power at all times, and forces it in.

What she finds inside holds not a shred of humanity. The mind she encounters, at first glance, doesn't feel like it was ever human at all. Not even animal, because animals aren't cruel.

There is nothing inside this creature's mind but merciless, savage violence, and _hunger._

The hunger floods through her; a desperate, raging hunger that she would do anything to curb.

The scent of blood unlike any she has ever smelled fills her senses to the brim until there's nothing else left in her but a burning, driving need to take it, take it all until there's nothing else. She feels the throbbing ache in her teeth, and knows that the only thing that will make it stop, even just for a little while, is to sink them into pliant flesh and rip and tear and **_rend._**

He knows if he doesn't follow his orders, he'll be killed. But there is no room for self-preservation in Dimmond's mind. He would gladly die for just a taste.

He feels hands on his face, nails digging into his skin, and he tries to shake them loose. He feels a niggling in his mind like a fly buzzing around his ears, like someone knocking on a door on the other side of the house.

Vaguely annoying.

Susannah feels at once everything the vampire is feeling along with the sensations from her own body.

She feels her knuckles rapping on that proverbial door at the same time as she feels the vampire trying to throw the locks closed; feels the vampire trying to get at her throat at the same time as she tries to get into his mind.

Susannah's power rises inside her in a way she's never experienced before, and she kicks that goddamn proverbial door in with all her might.

" _Enough_ ," she commands, and just like that, the hands around her throat loosen.

She's dropped the rest of the way to the floor and Susannah staggers, her consciousness spread too thin to control her body, leaving her in a sprawl against the porch and managing to stay upright enough out of pure spite to keep her fingers digging into Dimmond's temples.

The man stands before her, dead eyed and blank faced, Susannah's blood running in rivulets off of his curved fingers.

And completely under Susannah's thrall.

"Why me?" Susannah demands, her voice hoarse and broken in pain, "Why come after me?"

"Elijah cares for you and he betrayed my king," the vampire answers obediently, and adds in a revenant whisper. "He needed to be punished."

" **Susannah** ," Elijah calls out for her.

"Elijah," Susannah murmurs, the part of her consciousness that she's kept recognizes the man's voice instantly, maybe instinctively. But the name isn't whispered from her own lips, or in her own voice, but instead the vampires.

"What..."she thinks, and watches the words slide out of Dimmond's lips.

Susannah has sunk so deep into the vampires mind that she's using his voice to speak, and the knowledge of it shocks her enough that she drops her hands and comes back to herself in a fearful shout.

Dimmond blinks at her hard, confused, then turns his head to look over his shoulder, where Susannah can see Elijah standing just behind him.

Despite everything she knows about Elijah, Susannah wants to beg him to run. To not have to face his friend like this, but then she is struck momentarily dumb with the way the lights flicker over his sharp features. He looks primeval, a larger than life version of the man Susannah had come to know with the shadows darkening the hollowed space under his eyes and pooling beneath his sharp cheekbones.

He looks terrifying. He looks beautiful.

He looks ready to tear the whole fucking world apart.

He looks ready to tear the world apart with his teeth.

Susannah stares mind whirling, and only manages to tear her eyes away from Elijah when she hears a strangled sound besides her. Dimmond, the man who had shown not one ounce of emotion now looks like a child fearing the wrath of their parent.

Before she can react, Elijah brutally rips out Dimmond's heart, tossing it away like trash.

With the threat gone and her power curling back into herself, wounded, Susannah sways against the wall, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision.

"Lijah," she whispers, her voice thin and high. Her hands fold protectively over her abdomen, where she can feel a slickness trying to spill out. Internal organs, she recognizes blearily, _her insides becoming her outsides_ , just like all the dead people in the woods.

The world starts to spin sharply.

At the sound of her voice, Elijah's attention snaps from his fallen friend squarely to her.

Susannah feels her skin erupt in goose bumps all the fine hairs on her body standing on end, and she wonders if this is what others feel in the face of her own power.

White-hot, murderous waves of rage roll off of Elijah as his head swivels towards her in a reptilian way, his head tilted and chin raised, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wide enough to show white around the edges of pools of dried blood, and wilder than Susannah has ever seen them, every bit of the stoic passivity Susannah has quickly begun to cling to gone completely from his features.

Susannah laughs harshly when she realizes that, for all of the realizations she had earlier in the evening, she has no fucking clue what's going on.

Elijah isn't what Susannah thought he was, and Susannah doesn't have the strength to process this, any more than she has the strength to process what she just did to Dimmond.

The laugh ends abruptly as she begins to choke, and brings with it a mouthful of blood and bitter bile that spills past her teeth and over her chin.

She supposes she should be afraid, but she honestly doesn't feel any fear.

Elijah is still looking at her as if _she_ is the one out of the pair of them that has revealed herself to be the thing of nightmares.

She feels like she might laugh again at the absurdity of it, but instead she feels her legs finally giving out beneath her, and the last hysterical thought Susannah Bennett has before the world tilts completely on its axis and she collapses in a bloody heap to the ground is that although it might be the last thing she ever does, finally, fucking finally, after everything she's shown him, Susannah has finally managed to freak Elijah out.

* * *

"Susannah. Susannah."

Seconds may have passed, or maybe it has been years for all she knows, but Susannah is becoming aware of her name being repeated incessantly.

She hurts so bad her mind has whittled out with it, and she's surprised she can feel anything but pain, honestly, but yet somehow she finds it within herself to be quite irritated by the voice pestering her and the hands on her shoulders shaking her awake from the first moments sleep.

"Oh my God, fuck off," she whines, then coughs up another mouthful of blood. The coppery, bitter taste brings her back to reality almost as quickly as the scorching flare of agony that the clench of her wrecked belly causes, and she moans desperately in pain as her body is moved. A strong arm forcing her to sit up.

"I will do no such thing," she hears Elijah say, and damn if he doesn't sound incredibly fond right now, even though the fear in his voice.

And there is fear in it, Susannah's mind hazily latches onto it, even when it can't quite discern anything else despite the unrelenting agony. Why won't Elijah just let her rest?

"Susannah," she hears Elijah say, the words rolling off the man's tongue in his strange accent, clipped and, if he were anyone else, Susannah would say almost on the verge of panic, "I need you to open your eyes."

She thinks about obeying, she really does, but all in all it feels like too much work.

"Susannah, please," Elijah whispers, and something about his tone, just a hair's breath away from begging, catches the edges of Susannah's consciousness, "Open your eyes for me."

She moans pitifully, and somehow does.

They're still outside of her house, Susannah finds, that goddamn broken porch light flickering on and off behind Elijah's head, illuminating him in a blinking, eerie green halo.

Not much else has changed in however long she was out, except that she's in Elijah's arms, now, no longer laying in a pool of her own blood on the cold concrete floor.

Dimly, it dawns on her, she's escaped the clutches of one vampire, only to find herself in the clutches of another.

She would laugh at the absurdity that is her life, she thinks, if she had the strength to survive another explosion of pain. She's currently laboring under no such illusions.

Elijah has Susannah cradled against his chest, her head tilted back limply and resting on his arm, looking up into Elijah's face.

Susannah blinks at him rapidly, her vision blurry around the edges. She manages to focus first on Elijah's eyes, at the way his pupils are blown so wide they've almost completely eclipsed the reddish-brown of his irises.

His face is bloody, Susannah realizes with a crease of her brow, and there's blood in his teeth. His teeth, all perfectly normal except for the pair of razor-sharp fangs, all of them streaked with blood. Terrifying in its own way, but different from Dimmond.

She really has no idea what the fuck is going on, but she's in no shape to ask.

Really and truly, she reasons blearily, it won't matter for much longer anyway. Her eyes are growing heavy, closing on their own accord, and she doesn't realize she's spoken his thoughts out loud without meaning to until Elijah growls, a desperate, fearsome sound, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenches his teeth.

"Hold on," he hisses as Susannah's eyes close completely, and Susannah makes a pitiful sound as Elijah shakes her again, his voice a harsh whisper, "Hold on for a little longer, Susannah, and I will tell you what the fuck is going on. I'll tell youanything."

Susannah manages to wrench her eyes open in surprise at the curse word, the way it sounds coming out of Elijah's aristocratic mouth.

"Language," she manages to wheeze, just like Elijah would do to her.

It makes Elijah smile, small and pained, somehow terrible looking and lovely at the same time with the blood staining his teeth.

"You have to find someone to take care of my dogs. They don't like you so someone else," she coughs. "And Bonnie-"

Elijah leans in and presses his lips to Susannah's forehead, once, and when he pulls back, she looks up to meet his eyes.

Her hand, shaky, rises up to touch his cheek.

As Susannah's fingertips rasp against a bare amount of stubble on his cheek, she realizes that for all the times Elijah has had his hands on her, healing or guiding or for no discernible reason at all, this is the first time she's ever touched Elijah. (Not for a game or for the eyes of others. Just touching to touch.)

It is, as well, the only time she's seen Elijah look afraid.

"I'm dying, aren't I?" she asks, her voice a thin whisper from pain. "Why is it taking so long."

"Yes," Elijah whispers simply. Direct and to the point as he always is.

Susannah has appreciated that about him, even if she knows now he hasn't been entirely honest, and this time is no different.

She nods. If she has to die this doesn't seem like the worst way to go, being held by Elijah Mikaelson.

"Susannah," Elijah presses, pulling her back from where her mind has wandered—this what being in shock must feel like, Susannah muses—and Elijah's voice is hoarse, his expression unsure as he whispers, "Do you want to live?"

Even half-drunk and half-gutted, Susannah knows a loaded question when she hears one. "At what cost?" she asks shakily, "the second we exchange blood...what is going to happen, Elijah?"

"Susannah-"

"Something," her voice is faint. "If nothing were to happen you wouldn't have asked."

Elijah smiles, and damn him, he looks lovely as he does it, even with his pale skin and dark eyes, even with the blood around his mouth and dripping from his sharp fangs. Maybebecauseof it, if Susannah is honest with herself.

"You will only ever be just as you are, I am afraid," Elijah murmurs, reaching up to stroke Susannah's hair back from her face. "Do you trust me, Vita Mia?"

This time, Susannah can't help but laugh no matter how much it hurts, her head lolling where it rests against Elijah's shoulder, and moves her thumb to stroke once down the length of one of Elijah's fangs, physical proof of what the other man is. Elijah's breath catches roughly in his throat at the touch.

"Fuck you," Susannah manages to whisper weakly as another trickle of blood spills from the corner of her mouth, and Susannah's hand falls limply away, lacking the strength to hold it up anymore

He offers her his wrist, bleeding sluggishly, dripping over Susannah's chest to mingle with her own blood that has ended up basically everywhere but inside of her, where it belongs.

"Please, Susannah," he says softly, his deep voice rumbling through Susannah where she's held tightly to his chest, so that she feels every word when he whispers, "It can't end like this."

And it can't, can it? Who will protect Bonnie, her dogs, her home?

A smaller, quieter part of her, though, is somehow the loudest, screaming at her that thethisthat can't end is _them._ The relationship that hasn't yet been defined but is ever present.

Her heart makes its decision without consulting with her brain. With the last of her strength leaving her quickly, Susannah weakly nods her head.

She's cold, so cold in fact that the first drops of Elijah's blood on her tongue feel warm, and she barely hears Elijah's rough voice whisper, "Sweetness,drink."

She tries to obey the command, but all she can accomplish is opening her mouth a little wider, allowing the blood to pool on her tongue and around her teeth.

She swallows reflexively when it hits the back of her throat, and feels Elijah shudder bodily against her, at the same time a moan escapes Susannah unbidden as the taste of Elijah hits her full force.

Because it'sincredible, the taste, zinging back and forth all over Susannah's tastebuds; sweet and tart not unlike the wine Elijah has served her, but deep and bitter like dark chocolate. Under it all, it tastes like life and it tastes like death and abruptly, Susannah wants it more desperately than anything,anything,and she's consumed with the intrusive thought that it'shers, hers to take, hers to make her own.

With a surge of strength, Susannab manages to raise her hand once more, grasping at Elijah's wrist with her bloodstained fingers. She pulls the wound more tightly against her mouth, presses her lips around the ragged edges of the man's flesh, andsucks.

Someone is breathing heavily, and someone groans, and Susannah isn't sure if it's her or Elijah or if it's both of them together.

All she knows is that Elijah is clutching Susannah to him and Susannah, as life trickles slowly back into her limbs, begins to cling to Elijah all the same. Susannah's eyes roll back as she draws hard on the wound, greedily swallowing down another mouthful of that rich, dark liquid, and when the flow of blood begins to slow there's no conscious thought, no reservation, that keeps Susannah from baring her own bloodstained teeth in a vicious snarl before she bites down, teeth sinking hard into cool flesh ravenously for more.

The sound Elijah makes is so inhuman Susannah's flesh breaks out in goosebumps in a prey animal's instinctive reaction, an ancient fear buried somewhere deep in her brain. Susannah ignores it, gripping Elijah tighter, sucking harder, instincts overridden by how urgently shewants.

Elijah growls sharply and wrenches his wrist away, his voice sounding like broken glass as he whispers roughly, "Enough," and grips Susannah's chin hard to stop her when she lunges to bite again.

But it'snotenough; not for Susannah, and if the lost, starved look on her face when he runs his shaking fingers through Susannah's hair is anything to go by, it's not enough for Elijah either.

The touch feels proprietary, and Susannah feels marked by it, and a foreign need to mark in return swells within her until she feels fit to burst with it.

She doesn't get the chance to act on that need.

With the connection severed, the surge of energy Susannah felt leaves her in a rush, and she wilts against Elijah's chest, moaning brokenly when the man shifts him to hold her closer. There are questions and accusations burbling to Susannah's lips along with blood—hers andElijah's—but she lacks the strength to voice them.

She feels an alien sensation creeping along the map of blood vessels throughout her body, spreading out underneath her skin in a way that feels like its growing to some violent, terrifying crescendo, like running full-speed towards the edge of a cliff, and Susannah shudders, scared to death of what awaits on the other side, feeling like she will blow apart and turn to dust when the feeling hits its peak.

She doesn't feel like she's dying anymore.

She feels like she's about to shed her skin.

"Elijah," Susannah cries out, voice high and afraid, searching out and meeting Elijah's eyes, and they're so black, no red left in them, whatever humanity he held on to having drained out of him along with the blood he spilled for Susannah, "What—"

Susannah's voice fractures, white-hot agony surging through her like an electric shock, and she jerks weakly in Elijah's arms with the force of it, her muscles cramping and seizing, her blood burning in her veins.

She feels a hand on her cheek, impossibly cool against her burning skin, gets a disjointed glimpse of Elijah's face as he looms into her vision through Susannah's fluttering eyelids.

He doesn't look any less inhuman, but his cold, dark eyes are soft, and if Susannah didn't know any better she would think he looks as though he's about to swoon.

He's saying something, looking dreadful and resplendent in equal parts to Susannah's eyes as he whispers through his red teeth, and Susannah loves him and hates him just as equally.

"Sweetness," she hears Elijah say, as she feels consciousness slipping once more through her fingers, "You terrible, wondrous thing."

It's the last thing Susannah hears before her world abruptly cuts to black.

* * *

 **Can y'all believe this isn't even all I was going to put into the previous chapter, turns out I have to split it into three chapters, at least.**


	17. Chapter 17

Sunlight, bright and beautiful, spills through the room.

Susannah can't quite place its source, just that it exists. She can feel it, even though she hasn't yet bothered to open her eyes; can see it through her heavy lids, a bright, golden hue.

She knows it bathes her, knows instinctively she's wearing the sunlight and nothing else. It's a cool caress, but Susannah is warm, awash with comfort, with belonging, with safety the likes of which she has never known.

She shivers when she feels cool fingertips settle at the nape of her neck, then trace the long curve of her throat up to the point of her shoulder. They barely make contact, just enough to raise goosebumps in their wake as they continue on down her arm, and Susannah smiles contentedly, burrowing down into the soft, cool pillow under her cheek with a sigh.

"You're awake."

Susannah feels herself smiling wider at the voice, rough and grumbly and fond, accent thicker than what she's become accustomed to hearing.

She had never seen the Mikaelson lose his composure in the months he'd been here, the man seemingly made of stone.

But for Susannah. For Susannah he'd nearly goneferal.

The fingers touching her pull away from her arm and settle instead against her side, in the curve of her hip. They tighten there and tug, and Susannah goes without argument, finally opening her eyes as she turns over to her other side, facing the source of the purring voice.

Elijah smiles sweetly at her as she settles, and Susannah drinks him in greedily; the way the dark silky sheets make his pale skin glow, the way his hair—normally so irritatingly perfect—lies across his brow in a lazy spill.

He looks less severe this way, softer without his usual suit of armor, and Susannah marvels at it, the lines around his face gentled but for the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she longs to feel beneath her fingertips.

The man before her is as bare as she is.

Bathing in nothing but sunlight.

Susannah feels herself smile as she tilts her head into Elijah's touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she feels a thumb caress the corner of her mouth.

"Am I?" she asks after a moment, opening her eyes again when she feels Elijah shift closer. She recognizes the haziness of the room around her, the dark blue walls she's never seen before, of the light that seems to have no source, the unrealistic quality of the room itself that doesn't seem to quite exist in any tangible form outside of the confines of the bed they share. "I'm dreaming," she hears herself say, and once the words are spoken, she knows them to be true.

"Does that matter?" Elijah asks, his words running together in a purr that seems to resonate outwards from deep within his chest. "It's real nonetheless."

He reaches out without thought, without hesitation, crossing the minute chasm between them to press his palm against Susannah's chest, above her heart.

He closes his eyes, feels the swell of her breast and the lingering vibration beneath his fingers as Susannah makes a soft, pleased sound, and covers Elijah's hand with her own, his other hand still stroking Susannah's cheek.

 _Does_ _it matter_? Susannah can't seem to remember for a long moment, can't seem to remember why she's avoided intimacy such as this her whole life. All she can think of is how comfortable she is, how safe she feels, how wonderful and comforting Elijah's skin smells.

She places her hand on his chest, above his heart.

Even when she registers that there is no heart beating under her hand, she doesn't feel any different. When she opens her eyes again, there's a trickle of blood at the corner of Elijah's mouth, darkening his soft, sculpted lips, and Susannah knows with the same certainty that she knows her own name that the blood is hers.

"You care for me," she hears herself murmur, her voice soft and far-away.

Elijah doesn't sound concerned, or embarrassed. "You didn't know?"

"I just - assumed -"

"What did you assume, sweetness?"

"That I was some sort of distraction, I suppose."

"I'm not prone to false declarations, I assure you. I care very much about you. You delight me."

"Why couldn't you just leave me be?" Susannah asked desperately, needing to know.

"Have you heard the myth of soul mates?" Elijah asked casually.

"It's just a story," Susannah said dismissively, recalling Bonnie's outlandish romantic movies. "It doesn't really exist."

"Perhaps not," Elijah replied calmly, slowly. "But every myth is built upon something. It would not surprise me if the person to have started it had felt about someone the way I did upon first seeing you." He watched her, his eyes accessing. "Or are you going to tell me you've felt nothing?"

"I feel like I am either drowning or burning," Susannah admitted. "That's what I've felt, ever since I met you."

"Yes, exactly," Elijah agreed pleasantly. "It's quite unlike anything else. I do believe we were meant to find each other."

"I don't believe in fate."

"What is fate but a word to describe the place we end up?" Elijah replied. "Whether you think it was destined or not, every choice we have made in our lives has lead us both here."

"And all that just for me?" Susannah asked. "You've certainly gone to a lot of trouble, and now you're going to pretend the choice is mine?"

"I'm not going to pretend I haven't tried to make choosing me to your advantage," Elijah said. "But the choice remains yours. I could no more control you, Susannah, then I can steer a hurricane. I am a patient man, and trusted you would come to me on your own. _And here you are_."

This time when Elijah smiles, even though its no less soft and sweet, his lips part enough to show a glint of his sharp, white fangs. "My sweet Susannah," he says, and his voice rough, almost sleepy, full of the same unbearable fondness that Susannah feels spreading thick and warm through her own chest.

She feels Elijah squeeze her breast, feels his thumb rub over her nipple. Something wet and pulsing begins between her thighs.

There was no denying that sensuality was instinctive to Elijah, written into every line of his body. If Klaus had the Morning Star's personality, then surely Elijah had his uncompromising beauty, elegant proportions, vibrancy… like living flame…

Using his other hand he pulls Susannah's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm, leaving behind a smear of blood when she releases it to bring herself closer in a smooth ripple of finely honed muscle. "From the moment we met, Susannah, I have wanted to see you, to know you," he whispers, cupping her, and Susannah is nothing less than malleable, allowing Elijah's careful hands to draw her closer, "From the moment we met, I knew you were the only one who could see and know me in return."

She pulls Elijah against her as if to kiss him, but diverts from his lips at the last second to instead lap lingeringly at the blood on his chin, a soft moan escaping her at the intimacy of tasting herself in such a way.

A desperate sound breaks loose from Elijah at the sweet touch of Susannah's tongue, and then there's a hand in her hair, wrenching their mouths together where Susannah drowns in the taste of their blood mingling together on their lips with no desire to come up for air.

* * *

Elijah detaches himself from Susannah's mind with a low groan.

He thought about touching himself, but controlled his urges. Part of this was the pleasure in denying himself a relaxing release for time to time, but he also knew that whatever he did to himself would be nothing compared to being intimate with Susannah.

He ached, deep in the pit of his stomach, for her.

He wondered what she would taste like- likely as sweet as her scent. He wanted toconsume Susannah in her entirety. Sate himself fully on all the witch could offer.

A lifetime flashed behind his tightly shut eyelids. A lifetime of hunts, of sex under blood-soaked moonlight, of nights spent sharing meals, of laughter. He had never found another like her and he didn't imagine he would again.

* * *

Susannah breaches consciousness again, just in time to catch the tail-end of her own soft, breathy moan, her hand twitching, wanting to reach blindly in the darkness for the cool skin that has disappeared from beneath her fingertips, to allow her body to bow against the solid, comforting, familiar weight that she's positive was only just now pressing her down into the obscene softness surrounding her.

Her mind is clouded, her head feeling heavy as if it's been stuffed with wet cotton, but nonetheless she quickly registers that the body she's searching for is not there.

 _"I'm dreaming."_

 _"Does that matter?"_

Reality descends upon her with all the finesse of an anvil dropping on her head, like one of the cartoons she watched with Bonnie as a kid.

The hard and uncomfortable mattress beneath her is nothing like the one in her dreams, and the lazy stretch she was in the middle of attempting mere seconds earlier has awoken pain that robs her of her breath, searing hot across her abdomen.

She still tastes blood in her mouth—very real blood, this time, not the product of her overactive imagination—she fucking hurts, and yet she's pretty sure she's somehow still managing to be more aroused than she's ever been in her entire life.

Despite the pain, she forces herself to sit up, groaning pitifully into the relative silence of her house at the pull across her stomach. She manages to swing her legs over the side of the bed and collapse over her knees, burying her face in her hands for a moment as her head swims from the movement.

She takes a deep breath, and with it comes a bevy of scents: mostly, the discovery of how disgusting she is from the sweat she's drenched in, but also the scent of water, car exhaust from outside, mold in the walls. Blood, old and stale. Blood, strangely sweet. Perhaps the lightest scents she can make out, however, is the one that sticks in her throat and tugs at her insides like puppet strings in ways she feels but doesn't understand: aftershave, no doubt hideously expensive. Freshly dry cleaned clothing. An old forest in winter, blanketed in snow, that feels like home in a way she has never understood the word.

 _Elijah._

Just thinking the man's name has causes a stirring between her thighs, she tramps that down with a righteous anger.

Susannah takes another ragged breath, and opens her eyes, blinking furiously at the tears that burn them. She has no time for that now, she needs answers.

First and foremost, she finds herself to be wearing some sort of sinfully soft nightgown that she most certainly doesn't own and had no idea even existed outside of Ebeneezer Scrooge's closet. She has no idea how it got here to her shabby home, or further still how it got on her body, but she certainly has an idea.

Feeling confused and ridiculous she throws back the covers and climbs shakily to her bare feet.

She slowly makes her way to the kitchen, finding her dogs bowls all filled with fresh food and water. Carefully leaning up against the sink, she doesn't realize how thirsty she is until she is guzzling mouthful after mouthful of blissfully cool water. Only stopping when she feels on the verge of being sick.

The sick feeling passes, thankfully.

As she shuffles her way to the small bathroom, her stomach turns at the memory of feeling claws tearing into her, rendering her into so much meat.

Her legs feel a little more steady beneath her by the time she finally makes it to the bathroom, but she's breathing hard and every ragged breath makes the skin of her abdomen pull uncomfortably tight across her belly. She steels herself, before reaching down to tug up the hem of the dress, grunting in discomfort as she pulls it up and over her head.

It flutters limply to the floor beside her when she peers into the dirty, cracked mirror over her sink.

Not even a scar.

No evidence of what occurred the night before.

She holds her breath, swallowing hard against the sickness that wells up when she presses her palm against her abdomen, feeling the heat beneath her hand while remembering how it felt when she was clutching at herself, desperately trying to hold in the slippery wetness that was trying to slip out of her.

Elijah had held her in his arms, looked down at her as she gasped out what was meant to be her last breaths, and asked Susannah, "Do you want to live?"

Susannah hadn't known how badly she wanted to continue on existing until that moment.

Elijah saved her life, apparently by sharing with her some of his own.

And then, he must have brought her to her own bed, cleaned her up and dressed her and then left her to awaken awash with confusion and unanswered questions, and raging fucking horniness to a dream that felt more real than anything even her own not insignificant imagination could conjure up. A dream about a man who is not even a man, a creature who has killed who knows how many and—

 _Does that matter?_

The lingering taste of blood in her mouth is too much, she squeezes out too much toothpaste onto her toothbrush and vigorously brushes the taste away before turning on the shower as hot as it will go and shakily climbing in.

Her water pressure fucking sucks, but it still feels like heaven under the pitiful spray, and for a moment all she can do is brace herself against the wall with one forearm and let the mostly hot water pour down her back and try her damnedest not to think.

 _"Do you love him?" Bonnie had asked right after Caroline and Elijah and Dimmond (that fucking asshole) left._

 _"I don't think so," Susannah swallowed. "But I know that one day I will. One day I'm going to wake up and it's gonna hit me like a brick wall that I love him. It feels like a premonition."_

 _Bonnie hummed. "I think I'm starting to feel like that for Klaus. I think I might already be there, to be honest. I want him around everyday and it's...difficult when he's not...and I know that's bad, but it's hard for me to care."_

 _"Don't you hate being how we are?"_

 _"I hate that we form such deep, life-long attachments," Bonnie muttered. "But I don't hate my attachment to Klaus, despite it being the biggest inconvenience I have ever faced. I hate it about Elena... I don't hate it about you."_

 _There was a quiet between then again for a while. Susannah thought about Bonnie wandering aimlessly, staring out the window. Then she thought about Bonnie turning around, smiling, and calling Klaus's name._

 _It comforted her._

But even with the minty taste of toothpaste in her mouth, Susannah's mind keeps being drawn back to the way Elijah's blood had tasted, the way it made her feel alive even as she was dying.

These thoughts inevitably bring her back to the dream she has tried so valiantly to let fade away in the way dreams normally do, but it's still there in the forefront of her mind with noise and clarity like it had actually happened. The soft whisper of silken sheets, the cool press of skin against hers, the taste of fresh blood in Elijah's sharp-toothed mouth and the bone-deep knowledge that it washers, that she had fed him because she wanted to and she wanted to do it again, and again, because despite everything she knows she loves—

She loves him.

Susannah's own pitiful moan shakes her from her thoughts.

She doesn't quite remember when she had reached down to touch herself, but it's there now, and despite her pain and exhaustion she's achingly wet and it's way too late to stop.

The first touch is tentative but it feels good, good enough to seize Susannah's chest and make her mouth go slack

Everything under her touch is slippery wet, swollen and silky smooth. She teases her opening to see what it feels like, and her hips buck at the sensation. She's wet, so unbelievably wet, it coats her fingertips as she slides them all over her sex.

 _La Petite Mort._

Leave it to the French to make an orgasm sound so, well, French. Certainly better than the English word, which makes it sound like some kind of parasite.

She finds her la petite Mort a couple minutes later with her forehead pressed against her grimy shower wall and her legs shaking, she calls out Elijah's name.

She doesn't know why her eyes start to burn with tears.

She presses her eyes hard against her forearm, still braced against the wall, and cries. Or she means to, at least—only a few rough, racking sobs escape her, torn from somewhere deep within her that was far too recently put back together by Elijah's steady hands. She should have known. She should have known. In fact, she has to admit to herself that some part of her did know: how many times had she thought that the man, their quick friendship, his quick acceptance of all of Susannah's darkness, everything was too good to be true?

Susannah should have known better than to open the box.

She also should have known better than to allow the box to be opened at all, even if it wasn't her yanking off the lid.

She turns off the water and gets out, drying herself off quickly with unnecessary roughness using a towel that is far past needing to be laundered. When she's done and her hair is all combed through, she allows herself another look in the mirror.

She doesn't look like a woman who has very recently all but kicked the proverbial bucket (nor one that just cried in the shower, although she's already doing her best to forget about that completely). Instead, she finds her curls look glossy, her eyes bright without their usual dark circles beneath them, her cheeks are rosy and her brown skin gleaming...the picture of perfect health.

She needs to hunt Elijah down.

Now.

She stuffs the weird nightgown under her sink. And pulls on some plain black shorts that she's pretty sure at one point actually belonged to Bonnie and an old cheer shirt that Susannah borrowed without explicit permission from Bonnie.

Another sob attempts to escape her, but she stifles it before it can break free.

Her vision swims, from tears and from lightheadedness both, and she forces herself to think.

She now knows what Elijah had been hiding.

Why he asked permission to feed her his blood.

 _It is believed soul mates were once one person that were split apart because the Gods feared them. People search their entire life to find their soulmate; the one that connects to them on a level that defies all logic._

Soulmates weren't important. They weren't instrumental in shaping up a person. But they were still an itch that could never be scratched, even when you hand the hand and the reach required to do it.

* * *

According to the date, she was attacked just the night before. Less than twenty-four hours had passed, and despite the severity of the wounds she was dealt, she was somehow up and walking. Shaky and hurting, yes; but up and on her way.

The sun is beginning to set in the sky when she finds herself stepping out onto the curb in front of Elijah's apartment complex, no closer to concluding what exactly she hopes to accomplish by being there.

She walks inside, ending up at his door.

She's fully prepared to pull out skills she learned long ago on the streets to slip the lock, but when her hand lands on the gilded door handle, she's somewhat surprised to find it tilting downward easily.

Elijah's neighborhood is far better than Susannah's, but he still is in Mystic Falls, and he certainly has valuables inside that need protection, and yet his front door is unlocked and no alarm makes a sound when she silently opens it and steps into the darkness within.

Susannah supposes he really doesn't need it, though.

Despite everything, she damn near smiles at the thought of some hapless fool attempting a break-in here.

She tells herself that it's in the name of stealth when she toes off her boots at the door, not in an attempt to be more comfortable in Elijah's space.

Even though she creeps quietly down the hallway in her bare feet towards the kitchen—where else would he be?—she doesn't fool herself into thinking that the original doesn't already know that she's there. She knows it to be true, in fact; knows it in a way she doesn't know how to explain even to herself. The closer she comes to her destination, the more the blood pounds in her ears, sings in her veins.

Perhaps it's not _her_ blood at all, she realizes belatedly, her steps faltering to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen. It's the blood that's another's, pulling her unerringly to return to its source.

Its source is currently standing with his back to Susannah at the kitchen counter.

He's dressed down—for him, anyway—in a snowy white collared shirt, and for a moment despite herself Susannah is utterly entranced at the movement of his shoulders and back beneath the starched fabric as the man kneads something on the counter, just out of Susannah's line of sight thanks to the bulk of his body between them.

His movements are rhythmic, hypnotizing, as he arches up to press down hard on whatever it is he's working on. Susannah despises the way her mouth waters, either at the thought of eating whatever he's making or the sight of man himself, it hardly matters, it's all wrong, wrong.

"Susannah," Elijah says without stopping what he's doing, confirming that he's known she was there all along. Just the sound of his voice, now, hearing it for the first time after the dream she is trying so hard to forget, makes her feel as though the fine hairs all over her body are standing on end. Her only answer to the greeting is to swallow loudly enough it sounds deafening in the silence, and she steps further into the room as Elijah adds, "I found myself unsure as to rather or not you would come."

Susannah's answering laugh is short and mirthless.

"As if you didn't have every bit of this planned," she replies, her voice hoarse as she utters her first words aloud since she awoke in her home, so carefully put back together by hands belonging to the vampire in front of her, hands that are currently doing...whatever it is they are doing.

Susannah's curiosity is too much in the end, and despite her hastily put together plan to keep her distance, she finds herself creeping closer, her bare feet cold against the wooden floor beneath them.

He stands there, dough streaking his hands and up his forearms, exposed by the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, looking at Susannah like he's been lost in the desert and Susannah is a glass of cool water.

After a moment of looking his fill, Elijah's lips part to speak. "I tried to plan," he admits, his voice and accent like velvet brushing against Susannah's skin, "But as I've said before you are entirely unpredictable."

Susannah feels the man's words like a caress and like needles in the marrow of her bones all at once, but she somehow manages to scrape together the wherewithal to shake her head, her lips pulling tight against her teeth in the semblance of a snarl. "Even an idiot could predict that flattery would get you nowhere," she hisses, her hands balling into fists at her sides, "Not with me."

At this, Elijah only smiles his maddening half-smile.

"I wouldn't dare to even think so, much less to try," he replies, and there is pride coloring his voice. Susannah tenses but refuses to give ground as Elijah moves.

Susannah can't see Elijah's expression when he asks in a conversational tone, "How are you feeling, my dearest one?"

Susannah jolts as if touched by a livewire at the question, her teeth gritting together so hard that her jaw aches. "How am I feeling?" she repeats incredulously, and snarls at the man's back, "How the fuck do you think I'm feeling, Elijah?"

Elijah doesn't respond right away, instead going to the sink and washing his hands, and then turning off the water and then taking up a dish towel to dry his hands.

When he's done, he folds it meticulously, before placing it parallel to the edge of the sink. He twitches it into its correct position with his fingers, and his shoulders move with a deep breath, before he finally turns to face Susannah. This time, there's less distance between them as he looks Susannah over again, more critically than longingly this time, his eyes lingering in some places and traveling over others more than once. "You certainly look well," he murmurs, his expression warm and fond in the face of Susannah's righteous anger, adding as an afterthought, "Did you rest well?"

"Rest—" Susannah starts and then stops abruptly, her voice ratcheting up an octave higher to almost a shout, "Fuck rest, Elijah."

"Language," Elijah chides gently, and smirks at the thunderous anger that explodes across Susannah's features in response, incensed that Elijah would try to disarm her with some warped version of a private joke. He leans back against the counter, at ease as he always is in this room, wetting his lips thoughtfully before he murmurs, "So, you did not come here to discuss your physical wounds."

"You lied to me," Susannah spits out, wishing that her voice didn't shake so violently with the words, but they feel as though they've been caught behind her lips for weeks,years, instead of only a day, raging against the barrier of her teeth, desperate to break free.

Elijah doesn't move, doesn't flinch, merely continues gazing at Susannah across the short breadth of distance between them.

"Did I?" he whispers, soft, and Susannah is forced to shut her eyes for a moment as reality and her dream momentarily cross paths until one bleeds heavily into the other.

Elijah's bare in bed beside her, against her. When she opens her eyes the vision separates, but Elijah's expression is the same in both: soft and open, unrepentant but wanting,wanting, the same way that Susannah wants him.

The pain in her heart has fully eclipsed that of her physical pain, which is still not insignificant.

No matter how desperately she tries to keep it off her face it must show, because Elijah pushes away from the counter to take a step forward, and then another, the same way one would approach a dangerous but wounded wild animal.

It takes more willpower than she knew she was even capable of to stand her ground as the nightmare of a man comes closer, and even though he's always been taller than Susannah he _looms_ , not stopping until he's close enough to touch, close enough that Susannah is forced to tilt her chin up to hold his eyes, close enough that Susannah's brain is screaming of the danger she's in.

"You must know I had to protect myself, sweet Susannah," Elijah whispers, looking down at her, his eyes dark, his mouth soft. "I have done so, for a very, very long time. But I have not, and will not lie to you."

"You may not have lied to me outright, but you've been far from honest," she says, lifting her chin more to capture and hold Elijah's eyes.

"And If I had told you, sweetness, perhaps the first day or the day after, how would you have rewarded my honesty?" Pulling and pushing into the heat of the body pinned before him, Elijah gasped out the words. "Would you have accepted and allowed me to court you as was my right?"

Susannah let out a shaky breath.

"We both know that would not have happened. You would have ran, Susannah. No sooner would the words have left my lips than you would have put as much distance between us as you were capable of creating. And still we would have come to this moment. Rage against me all you want, little girl, but we both know the truth of it. Mine was the better way."

"Stop," Susannah shoots back daring him to push the subject.

"No," Elijah replies, smiling now. He looks down at her neck. "You started this Susannah, you came here for answers."

"I'm not-" she tries to argue, but then Elijah tests his sharpened canine against his bottom lip, eyes locked on hers. "I can't Elijah I don't know how to say it."

"You will try for me."

Susannah laughs and tries to free her wrists, but Elijah's grip is unforgiving. "Will I?"

"Speak, sweetness, before I lose my patience."

"We should get rid of it... _the bond_."

The words fall out of her mouth in a instant. Elijah cannot, could not want her. She would destroy him, ruin everything- because that's what Susannah fucking does.

When she meets Elijah's eyes she almost wants to take a step back. He looks all the predator that he is and that keeps her still. The look in his eyes was enough to stop anyone in their tracks, and being behind the full force of it...

She can admit the look of contempt hurts to see. It had taken so much time for them to become tentative friends. So yeah, that look hurt. It hurt a lot.

She doesn't flinch when her back is pushed into a wall and his hands grip her throat.

His fury blazes hot, his anger so overwhelming. And Elijah feels no sympathy for the girl before him, facing his wrath, she brought it upon herself with her foolish words. He doesn't look at her, that's too weak of an expression. More like, he bores into Susannah.

"No one, Susannah- not one individual- human or otherwise- in all my eternity, has ever had the nerve, the disturbing lack of respect, to speak to me in a manner you find all too easy."

"Elijah-"

"You arrogant little girl, always thinking the rules only apply if you want them to. It's an _unbreakable bond_ , Susannah. Yet you, you just assume that because you want it gone that I will allow it. Make no mistake, you are mine."

Elijah Mikaelson hadn't anticipated his need for intimacy with Susannah. After so long without, he hadn't really been sure his soul would be receptive to another's in that way. Like a hunter isolated from other humans for far too long, and therefore losing his facility for easy interaction.

"Be honest with me then," Susannah says, softly, and though she manages to keep her tone even, she's begging, she knows she is.

"Okay," comes the rough reply. "Over countless centuries, Vita Mia. I have watched civilizations rise and fall, dynasties begin and end." Elijah is in her space, staring down at her with unfathomably dark, unblinking eyes, and Susannah can't look away, breathless at the growing knowledge of the depths of this creature she's become so intrinsically intertwined with. "I have watched legions of human beings take their last breaths, either by my own hand or by others just like them; watched as Death paid his visit upon them," Elijah murmurs, close enough now that Susannah can see herself reflected in his pupils as he whispers, a benediction, "How many times, sweet girl, do you think I felt the need to intervene?"

She feels Elijah's power, different from her own, but endless and terrifying.

She feels the years spiraling forward and backwards, unfathomably agelong and sempiternal. She feels a tease of the beginning—abysmal hunger, intolerable cold, blood splashing in a wide arc against deep, white snow in a forest of ancient trees that stretches as far as he can see around him—and the stretch of an eternity there after.

She can see herself there, in Elijah's mind; crashing into his militantly structured and organized life in a flurry of plaid and tangled curls and neuroses, turning everything upside down without meaning to.

To Elijah she is a supernova in total darkness, and every bit as radiant, and Elijah has been utterly lost to her since the moment he laid eyes on her, and he'd do anything to keep her,anything,to his own detriment, to the world's, it doesn't matter, _he doesn't care._

"Why?" Susannah asks, when she gathers breath enough for words, her voice brittle and small, "Why didn't you just let me die?"

Elijah bares his fangs in a vicious snarl, looking every bit the monster Susannah now knows him to be, and he's the most beautiful thing she has ever seen, and she wants him, he wants her, despite it all, because of it all. "You know why," Elijah hisses through his sharp teeth, his voice a wreck.

With the last of her strength, she flings herself across the space between them.

Elijah catches her easily, wrenches their bodies together as Susannah fists a hand in his hair and crushes their lips together, finally, finally. She sobs into it with something akin to relief, their blood—because it's theirs now, mingling in her veins—singing at the contact, and Elijah makes a despairing sound deep in his throat in response as their mouths move together with too much force born of too much want, too much need, pent up for far too long.

Susannah licks hungrily into his mouth, and Elijah makes a helpless, wounded noise when she runs her tongue against one razor-sharp fang. Just the threat of it is enough to shock her, but when she tries to pull back Elijah's grip on her tightens, and he turns them both to slam Susannah's back against the cold steel of the refrigerator door and presses his body against the smaller woman from knee to chest.

He pulls back fractionally, retracting his fangs with a soft nick of a sound, and then he's kissing Susannah again.

Susannah is lost.

She's drunk on the taste of him. He tastes like life itself, like death, like something Susannah needs if she is to continue breathing for another moment. Elijah's tongue in her mouth, his hands on her face feel like a tectonic shift in the earth, like the magnetic pull that keeps the planets aligned. She wants him, loves him with a fierceness that terrifies her to her core.

Elijah shifts and surges up against her, and Susannah cries out, despite her abdomen being healed her body must be psychologically subjecting her to phantom pains, because she feels it and tears darken her vision.

Susannah breaks away from him immediately, and she aches to her very bones with the loss. The overhead lights from the kitchen shine down on her from above as Elijah steps back, hands fisted at his sides in an effort not to touch, and Susannah breathes raggedly and looks at him, really looks at him, andsees.

The carefully cultivated mask he wears to face the world has melted away completely, and Susannah wonders how she ever thought this man was a man at all. With his face half-cast in shadow, filling the hollows of his eyes and the spaces beneath his cheekbones, pale skin smooth over a bone structure that just doesn't quite belong in the modern world, strangely red irises eclipsed completely by pitch black pupil...he looks otherworldly, ethereal, deadly.

Even with his chest heaving and his covetousness etched deep in his features, he is so gorgeous, and Susannah loves him so fiercely and wants him so ferociously she can't think of anything else, not her anger, not her pain, not even how to breathe.

"Forgive me, Susannah," he says, and his voice is deeper and husky, his accent heavier as if his tongue is thick in his mouth, "You test the limits of my not insignificant self-control. The scent of your—"

"Please don't apologize," Susannah murmurs. "I just- just come back."

And he does, he's holding her almost as quickly as he had left.

"Can I-" Susannah stops herself.

"What is it, sweet Susannah?"

"Can I spend the night? I've found I don't like sleeping alone."

Elijah presses his lips to hers. "Yes," he whispers against her mouth. Licking and sucking at her bottom lip. "You can stay however long as you please- however, there Is real danger I may not ever let you leave."

Susannah's smiles and Elijah slowly starts ushering them both to his bedroom.

She's been in here before. Slept in his bed before. But this is different. More.

Elijah gently walks her towards the edge of the bed, his body still pressed so goddamn, achingly close. He slowly lifts up her shirt, showing her abdomen, her unscarred abdomen. The original though quickly realizes Susannah wore no bra beneath her shirt, the flimsy fabric her only layer.

He watches her carefully, not asking when he removes the shirt completely.

Leaving her top bare with only sunlight to bathe her.

Her breasts were not overly large nor small, they were just big enough to perfectly fit in his palm, perfectly shaped, and to Elijah's eyes, cute.

He felt a surge of want, pure electricity rush through him at the idea of tugging her close, touching her.

"Close your eyes," Susannah whispered.

Elijah's eyes went to hers. "You would deny me the pleasure of looking upon you?" And then he chuckled, warm and kind. "Lay face down on the bed, please."

A command disguised as a request.

Her eyes went wide. "Didn't think you would be so straight forward, but I'm into it."

"I am going to give you a massage. It is the best way to remove pent up stress," rather than waiting to see if Susannah would do what he asked, Elijah walked into his bathroom to receive his essential oils kit.

And Susannah...well, Susannah laughed hysterically.

* * *

 ** _Okay I stopped the chapter here for some specific reasons._**

 ** _The next chapter will contain explicit, consensual, sexual material._**

 ** _If this bothers you (you rare, precious, adorable few), you can attempt to skip it, but I can't promise you'll understand what's happening next._**

 ** _For the rest of you (you sly dogs), this is probably more along the lines of what you've been waiting for. Enjoy it while it lasts because this sort of thing will take a minute to come back around._**


	18. Chapter 18

When Elijah returns Susannah isn't lying down.

Instead she is pacing her expression shy, with pinched lips and rosy cheeks, her arms crossed over her breasts.

He places the basket of essential oils down and watches her for a moment, gaze calculating, before holding out his hand.

Casually he beckoned her to him. She hesitated, feeling the threat there, but at length reached forward to grasp his fingers. Susannah let her eyes remain wide and innocent, knowing it would soften him. "Come," he adds unnecessarily seeing as Susannah was already grasping at him at the invitation. "I have something I need to show you."

He pulled her towards him at once, the tug strong enough to sweep her against him.

"I have taken another measure to secure your safety," he says, his voice light in a way that feels forced.

"Am I going to like this?" Susannah asks warily as she watches Elijah take her towards the dresser in his room and begins removing things.

He glances up at Susannah, eyes crinkled in amusement. "Doubtful." He continues on pulling out a rather plain journal. "Its as they say, what is done is done."

Susannah feels herself growing more anxious, her eyes narrowing. "I usually don't care for what _they_ say."

She watches his face inspecting him for some kind of clue, but master of expression that he is, she finds it blank. Their bond, too, when she checks is also strangely blank: whatever he is feeling, he doesn't want Susannah to be aware of.

He hands her the journal and when she opens it, eyes skimming the pages. One time, two times, three times. Then her gaze snaps to Elijah. "What the fuck," she says softly then louder. "What the fuck, Elijah. What is this?"

"A precaution," Elijah replies simply.

"A pre..." Susannah starts, her voice losing steam halfway through. She swallows hard, and brandishes the folder full of legal paperwork in Elijah's face as she all but shrieks, "You gave me access to every single one of your bank accounts, Elijah."

"Majority of them, yes, I have not yet added the foreign accounts on," Elijah corrects gently.

"Why?" Susannah is breathing too hard, and feels like she might pass out, right there on the floor.

She's never had access to this much money before in her life...Elijah, of course, isn't breathing at all, and looks perfectly calm in the face of Susannah's near-meltdown.

"My love" he says, voice steady as always, "It's a precaution, nothing more."

"No."

"Susannah-"

"I said no."

Elijah seemed calm but his eyes grew dark and unnatural. "Dimmond. He reminded me you are not invincible."

"You thought I was?" Susannah tried. "You seriously believed I could take care of any threat on my own?"

"As I've said before you are more powerful than anyone I have ever known before. I have no reason to doubt you."

"You must be severely **_disappointed_** then." Her voice was brittle and sad as her gaze dropped to the floor. God, she was kind of pathetic.

The Mikaelson just looked at her with a painfully blank face, drawing her eyes to his once again.

" ** _Never_** , and if it had been anyone else the second the wound was made they would have died. Therefore, I won't apologize for taking steps to ensure your wellbeing."

"I won't apologize for not not accepting. This is insane, Elijah. I don't want...you can't do this. You can't."

"I can," Elijah replies, smirking as he glances down at the contract scattered around their feet and back up again to add, "I already did." Susannah gears up to argue more, and Elijah's hands move to grip her wrists, too. "What is the issue here, sweetness?" he asks, thumbs now stroking over the tender underbelly of Susannah's wrists, where her blood flows through delicate veins, only an impossibly thin layer of skin separating them from his touch, "I wanted to take you away from here, and you refused me. I would have walked away from this town and everything in it, should you have agreed. This is, in the grand scheme of the things I would do to protect you, a rather small thing."

"Small," Susannah says, scoffing and rolling her eyes, "This isn't small, Elijah." Elijah merely stares at her across the few feet of space between them, expression placid and patient as ever, eyes warm. "We've only known each other for a handful of months," she says weakly, "This is...all of this is—"

"Madness, yes," Elijah finishes for her, his lips turning up at the corners in a smile, "That is something we can both agree on, I believe." Susannah's grip has gone lax, and her eyes wide. "Let me take care of you, Susannah."

"Elijah-"

"I know you are unaccustomed to being taken care of, but I implore you to allow me to do this."

She falls into silence.

"You hardly gave me any warning of this."

"Haven't I?"

"Nothing helpful," she muttered back. She sounded like she hadn't decided if all of this was his fault or not.

He can see the argument beneath her skin. Trying desperately to outmaneuver his calm and clever wordplay. She nods her head, a gentle concession, looking displeased and so achingly beautiful.

Elijah's blood was singing in her veins. She saw him in crystal sharpness above her. She felt him without meaning to, without trying, felt him clearly and fully as she had never been able to feel before. Elijah's thoughts and emotions were sinking into her, red-hot and rough.

Elijah was directing so much at Susannah, she couldn't even decipher it.

Obsession burns in him, though he suppresses it, locks that beast away on a thick chain.

For Susannah's sake. Though it hardly matters now...seeing as she can feel it, see it.

Physically, Elijah could devote whole books of poems to the subject of Susannah's hands, the youthful way her curls frame her face, the gentle red of her tempting lips, the circumference of Susannah 's hips and thighs, what she might taste like. What it would feel like to be inside of her, either between those soft lips or between those thighs Elijah so adores.

He growls unable to hold back his need. "I need you, Susannah."

She meets his eyes and just...knows. She will not be able to leave this room without being fundamentally changed. After tonight she will be Elijah's. And that should terrify her. But all it does is keep her warm.

"Aren't you angry at me?" She whispers, her hands coming together in front of you.

Elijah's brow furrows, before he tilts his head. "No."

"I killed your friend."

"I was the one who removed his heart." Elijah replies quietly, momentarily derailed.

And he should of known, really. Even when Susannah agreed with him, she disagreed with him on principle.

Susannah scoffed. "Because of me. The fault lies on me," a shiver worked it's way up her spine. "Dimmond is dead because of me. Nothing should matter beyond that fact."

Elijah didn't look like he agreed with her assessment, at all, but he did look like he thought this was a stupid conversation to have.

And then one of the most selfish thing he ever said slipped out of his mouth, so very easily.

"Dimmond was a creature of indulgence," the Mikaelson said. "If his life came down to a pivotal struggle between you and he, I am glad it was you who lived."

He looked at her now, eyes fluttering in surprise, lips parted, and cheeks rosy. Elijah nursed the cluster of uneasy sensations that balled in his chest, and reluctantly looked away from the curl-laden sunshine.

It was difficult, looking away.

"You...you mean that," Her voice was filled with wonder and surprise.

With every word out of his mouth he takes a step forward. "Saving your life wasn't a favor," Elijah said bright and glaring. He was too close and too far away and it was making her head spin. "It's necessary. Always has been."

"Oh, good," she snapped, chilled by the implication, her voice brittle as she tries to hold herself together."I'm glad I'm your job."

"Necessary for me, you arrogant girl." Elijah's words were sharp and shocking and she felt them burning against her brain. Like the friction of the cracks. Without any indication he intended to do so Elijah pulls Susannah to him by the swell of her ass, as close as he can before suddenly pulling away, breathlessly looking at her as if she holds all of the secrets to the universe.

"You have always been uniquely adept at distracting me sweet Susannah, and what a masterful distraction this is, but a distraction nonetheless."

Elijah strokes Susannah's cheek, her neck, and her jaw as he speaks because to keep his hands to himself now would be asking a lot. "Tell me why you are trying to delay the consummation of our bond with a petty argument?"

"I'm nervous," her mouth confesses before she is ready to say.

Her eyes seemed lighter for a second, almost yellow.

He touches her waist, her skin the softest pleasure for his hands. It's ownership, casual and complete, and maybe Susannah would hate it on any other day, but Elijah is so intriguing. His behavior, both wild and controlled, feral and restrained.

And then he hummed, his touch gliding over the more curious part of Susannah's body that he could reach. Nipples budded and hardened under his fingertips' explorations.

She is his gift from the sun, and his desire turns molten.

"Where is that fearless girl I've come to know?"

"You don't understand Elijah."

"Then explain it to me."

She looks into his eyes. The intensity there shakes her. Being under his sole focus is a lot of pressure. She's suddenly a fragile and delicate thing that could break so easily.

"You've been with more women than I can even begin to count...I- I wasn't allowed to have such freedoms in regards to sex-" She eases out a light breath, not exactly sure how to continue.

She falters at the proximity between them, the sudden intimacy of it. The original offers a small, enigmatic smile that makes his eyes crinkle; dark with secret promise. Susannah can't quite name what she sees there, not yet, and the novelty of that alone unnerves her, scares her a little, but it excites her more. She becomes acutely aware of her pulse, beating rhythmically in time with the ceaseless pounding in her skull.

"You look pensive, sweetness," Elijah comments, head tilting in consideration.

Her tongue darts out to wet dry lips. "I guess I'm just not entirely sure why I'm here."

"No?" Elijah raises a skeptical brow.

And she can't help but appreciate the natural ease of which her body conforms to him. Like she was made to be held.

"Well…" Susannah searches for the right thing to say to that, but anything that comes to mind would sound disingenuously coy or mockingly trite if voiced.

She lets her eyes roam over the man's striking features to ground herself in the moment; high carved cheekbones, glowing almost bronze in the soft light, hair sleek and tidy and dark. Susannah feels the urge, suddenly, to mess it up, to dishevel his flawless clothes and see him moan and curse; to pull apart every put together inch.

"You must not understand how much power you have then." His smile is wry. Then he pauses for a moment to trail his gaze down over Susannah's body - there's something casually predatory in it, animalistic in a way that makes her skin prickle with anticipation. "I would let you reduce me to a fool. My dearest Susannah, you overpower me completely. All my sense and reason abandon me and instinct takes over. All I can think is: look at this beautiful little thing. She's so excited. She needs me to take care of her."

"No I don't," snaps Susannah, defiant even when delirious.

"Yes you do," replies Elijah calmly, tangling his fingers in Susannah's hair and tugging very gently while beginning to run the other hand across her torso. The touch is exploratory yet worshipful, paying careful attention to each plane of bone and curve of muscle, and the way his hand dips lower each time makes her quiver and arch her back while unwittingly letting her legs fall further apart.

And then he's kissing her. Her jaw. Her neck. Her cheeks.

"Why won't you kiss me properly?"

Elijah smiles at this then cups Susannah's face with his palm. "Because I want to look at you," he replies truthfully. "And to watch your expression when you're being touched. You're so responsive; it's rather beautiful. I can't even imagine what you must be like when you're amid the throes of passion."

Susannah closes her eyes, obviously uncomfortable at the implications of this, then wraps her arms round Elijah's neck and knots her fingers in his hair; tugging it at intervals rather than replying.

"It's all right," says Elijah softly. "I know you don't like the idea of losing control. I need to go slowly with you don't I?"

"What about you?" says Susannah, twisting Elijah's hair even harder. "You're holding yourself back too, I can tell."

"Perhaps I am." Elijah leans in closer, curling his palm round Susannah's neck again so he can hold her head still. "Would you like to see me lose control sweetness – leave you afterwards trembling and empty and aching because I've taken you so hard?"

Her breath hitches and Elijah leans in even closer, blatantly smelling her skin from jaw to collarbone in what's an another unmistakable gesture of ownership.

"You might have bruises on you afterwards," he says softly. "Little mementos all over your neck and thighs as a testimony to my lack of control; I'd make you press your fingers over them the next day, just enough to hurt – remembering all the pleasure and passion which placed them there."

He chuckles then.

"How fast your pulse is. Your heart is pounding, my dearest one. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't...I'm not sure."

"No?"

"Not really," says Susannah. She realises her eyes are shut, even though she doesn't remember closing them.

He chuckles again.

"Your body's betraying you Vita Mia," he adds as Susannah's breath hitches again. And she wants to deny it but can't, because she isn't entirely sure what it is she's supposed to be in denial about…only that she wants this to stop, yet also hopes that it might never end. She can vividly remember the last time she was like this: stood in Elijah's kitchen and arching up against his chest, and how soothing it was; how reassuring.

But this doesn't feel anything like that. This feels frightening…it is frightening. Because she's never experienced this kind of fierce yearning before and the implicit vulnerability in it seems fraught with danger and pulsating with a constant threat of harm.

"What do you want Susannah?" Elijah is now asking. He's still stroking Susannah's collarbone and the touch, for all its lightness, feels scalding. "Tell me: say it out loud."

Susannah wants to admit that she doesn't fully know, but is ashamed to, and so opts for muteness instead.

"How silent you are my sweet Susannah. Do you really have so little to say? Or is it that you require some help; a few alternatives, perhaps? Very well. Would you like to go home? Or maybe sit in these chairs to discuss rules and rubrics and the nature of things? Or perhaps…" He moves his hands to trail across Susannah's breasts, "…perhaps you would like me to pleasure you in the best and exquisite of ways."

"We can't," says Susannah, aghast. She wants but she is afraid of what this will mean. If she does this...for the rest of her life she will belong with Elijah. He will be hers and she will be his.

"I'm afraid I must contradict you there," replies Elijah. He brushes his mouth against the side of Susannah's neck again. "Can is a definitive; it implies capacity. And therefore we can, if on no better grounds that simply being functioning adults in possession of…"

At this point Susannah actually goes pale. Oh God, she thinks, suddenly gripped by a surreal urge to laugh, please don't say the words 'penis' and 'vagina'– or any euphemism there of. If she has to stand here and be informed that she is in possession of a Functioning Adult vagina in that clipped aristocratic voice then there is a very real chance of dying from mortification.

"In possession of…" continues Elijah. _Oh my fucking God_ "…the right imperative," says Elijah, clearly taking pity on her.

"Yes, I know," is all she responds with.

"What you actually mean, I suppose, is not so much that we can't, but that we shouldn't. Which is a different matter entirely."

"The spirits would be upset."

"Y-e-s," says Elijah, in a tone of voice that clearly implies: ' _How very quaint; and that matters because…_?'

"What about the Martin witches?"

"They are not here. And even if they were they are extremely discreet – and rewarded well to be so. There are several things which occur in this apartment that I have no desire to be broadcast."

This disclosure corresponds rather unpleasantly with her stomach, and Susannah now has an abrupt and highly unedifying image of herself as just one in a long succession of personable younger women who get invited to stay the night. Maybe she'll meet some of them on the way out tomorrow morning; they could compare notes.

"Damon Salvatore would kill me, hell the whole group would come for my head" she finally says, a bit desperately.

"That is predicated on them discovering what you have done, which they shall not. And even if they did discover it; and even if it did drive them to seek violent chastisement against you…" Elijah smirks slightly, as if to convey the profound ludicrousness of the image, "then I should make it a matter of personal priority and significant satisfaction to kill them all myself."

This is said with a sardonic little twist of the voice; Susannah supposes it's meant to be a joke, although she doesn't think it's particularly funny.

"So now we have inventoried your reservations," adds Elijah, "and as far as I can tell the only one which I would have taken seriously is the only one which I have not heard."

"What?" she says, in a voice that's uncharacteristically thin and strained.

"Why, your own inclination of course. For you to say that you don't want this. That you don't consent."

Susannah's mouth goes a bit dry. "I did…I…" In the reflection of the window she can see Elijah beginning to smile. "I meant to."

"Then say it now."

There is no response to this so Elijah leans forward again and gently kisses the side of Susannah's throat, making a soothing noise as he feels the latter flinch.

"It's all right Susannah," he says softly. "Be calm. I do not wish to hurt you." And as soon as he's said it he realizes that might be a little false. The only pain he wishes to cause her would be rooted in pleasure. "The purpose of this isn't to hurt you, after all, but rather pleasure. And you're so inquisitive; don't you at least want to know what it feels like? Aren't you curious? I can show you: ease you in so gently and slowly, then hold you afterwards and let you fall asleep in my arms. And you know I'll let you go when it's over – release you back into the wild. If you so desire."

"We can't...we shouldn't," gasps Susannah, even as she's closing her eyes and tipping her head back to allow Elijah's lips to press kisses into her skin.

"No? And yet you want to so badly don't you? You know how much you're going to enjoy it; the reservations you have are only what you believe you should feel. Perhaps it would have been better if I didn't give you a chance to object. What do you think; should I have taken you before we even arrived here at this moment? I could have lifted you onto my lap in the car, before you got hurt, couldn't I- there were so many vibrations from the road, we might have made use of them. I could have held onto your hips and kissed your throat; helped you use the swaying of the car to find your own rhythm and let you ride me."

"Oh God," Susannah says in a faint voice.

"No," replies Elijah sardonically," just me." Almost torturously slowly he begins to unfasten the rest of Susannah's bottoms, thoughtfully releasing one button after the other while brushing his face against Susannah's with the lightest possible kisses that Elijah deliberately keeps to her jawline in order that Susannah's mouth can remain undisturbed to continue making its rather enticing gasping sounds.

"That's one more thing I want you to learn, my love: that your desires are fascinating."

"I-no" She moans helplessly as she feels Elijah's teeth lightly scraping across her throat.

"What was that, Susannah, my love?" Replies Elijah caressingly. With his free hand he reaches around to her and with a swift tug her shorts are removed. Left only in panties. "You're trembling Susannah. Why is that? Look at you: completely overwhelmed already. So astute and ingenious- so endlessly clever- yet your sharp mind has currently abandoned you, hasn't it? All your autonomy and self determination...they are of no possible service to you right now. You may as well give up to me. You know you can trust me. Then you won't have to do anything at all, will you? All you have to do is let go."

"You can't possibly be serious." Susannah's lips huffing out breath after breath, as she tries to calm her racing heart.

"It's not just anxiety, is it? No, you're angry with me. Aren't you, Susannah," Elijah dips down to touch her. "You resent the fact I can make you feel like this. Your beautiful, self-destructive disposition: you both desire and require. Sense and intellect say no, but you disregard them anyway and pursue your own course. Plunging ahead...losing yourself in your own labyrinth." He begins sucking a bruise into her neck.

"Shut it," hisses Susannah, despite the fact she's letting her head fall back onto Elijah's shoulder, exposing the long line of her throat to provide better access for a painfully bruising kiss. "Just for once, can't you just stop."

"But do you really want me to stop?" murmurs Elijah; and then, when there's no reply: "go lie down on the bed face down, Susannah."

"No."

"How disobedient you are."

"Make me."

"But I don't need to make you. You are going to do it all by yourself."

"Confident, aren't you?"

"In you; most certainly. I am confident you are going to learn to obey your instincts- to indulge them, even- and therefore make the right decision. Besides I can wait, Susannah. I can wait for as long as necessary. I have already been waiting for a long time- I was waiting for you before I even met you; before I knew such a person as you existed. I would have waited a lifetime, and if the wait proved fatal then I would have made sure I found you in the next life and waited for you there." He places another kiss on the back of Susannah's neck, just beneath her hair. "Some things are worth waiting for."

Her body is burning and she is delirious with pleasure as she rocks back into him, her thighs spread further and Elijah fills the space.

And she knows he is seducing her. Expertly and charismatically, _I want you,_ she thinks desperately, _I NEED you; and it scares me because you clearly don't need anybody._ She knows that Elijah is not going to coerce her into anything: he's going to wait, patiently and plausibly, and let her come to him.

The choice is obviously Susannah's to make: all the choice, all the control and – more to the point – all the consequences that come with it.

"I won't senselessly fuck you," Elijah whispers into her ear, brutal and harsh. "Are bond deserves more than that. **Will you let me take care of you?** "

She can't speak. Can't even breathe.

"The rush of oxytocin experienced during sexual climax has analgesic and anxiolytic properties, effective in reducing the physical pain from migraine or cluster headaches, among countless other ailments," he dips his head fractionally then inhales deeply, his eyes closing before he speaks again, the velvet rasp of his voice and the faint moisture from his breath against Susannah's jaw threatening to make her quiver. "Will you allow me to bring you to orgasm, Sweetness?"

It was an unfair question, because how could anyone find the willpower to say no.

"Hmm, what's that?" he asked, tilting his head, as if attempting to hear her more properly. A cruel little smile flitted across his lips, and his fingers constricted further, ever so slightly around her neck. "No?"

He was careful, though. Oddly, even in her state, some detached part of her mind noticed that his hold had not tightened anywhere near dangerously, and knew even as she experienced it that most of her panic was mental. Not that this was assuring.

"Look at me," he ordered, crisply.

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared up into the brown of his own. Nothing was said; he merely watched her, letting her feel the presence of his hand at her neck, the weight of his control. She had always felt powerless around him, but never had it been so stark - she could not move or speak unless he so willed, and one little twist of his fingers could bring about a world of pain. No doubt it was his intention to force this understanding, but realization of it did not lessen its effects.

"Yes, Elijah." She whispered, sweetly.

Too quick for her to accurately explain she was on the bed, her panties ripped away, and her left completely bare before him.

Susannah's gleaming nakedness is far preferable. He drinks it in with a parched set of eyes—it is so easy to be greedy where Susannah Bennett is concerned.

And the bed only reinforced that yes, this is actually happening. And Elijah can immediately tell she is feeling nervous and uncertain (and likewise desperately trying not to show it) so he gently strokes the side of her face and the effect is immediate. Her body relaxes into the softness below her.

He continues pressing light kisses against Susannah's forehead and eyelids, calling her "Dearest" and "My darling," telling her how beautiful she is, how wanted, and how good it's going to feel. It's rather like trying to win the confidence of something small, wild and wary – at which point Susannah suspects she's being humoured and grows irritable and offended; so Elijah just smiles and kisses her again, even more gently than before, while mentally surveying and appraising the various options for how best to proceed.

Specifically that if Susannah's left unsettled or overwhelmed beyond the point of actual pleasure then she's hardly going to be keen to repeat the experience...and which would not be at all compatible with Elijah's ambition of bringing her into his bed on a regular and longterm basis.

So while he'd admittedly like nothing more than to drape this beautiful, perfect being across the counterpane, cover her body with his own and then fuck her into senseless abandonment, he determines to resist tonight on the grounds that it would almost certainly be too much and might even scare Susannah off permanently.

Elijah wraps her up in a possessive hold which is impossible for her to escape from even if she wanted to (which admittedly she doesn't) and kisses her throat; marvelling at how pliant Susannah, for once, is allowing herself to be.

"I don't want you to think or do right now, Susannah," he says in the same soft tone, "but only feel and be. I don't want you to do anything except put yourself in my hands and allow me to take care of you."

The whole thing, in her perspective is entirely unfair. Here she was, completely naked, and there he was wholly covered.

He smiled down at her viciously. "You are the most aphrodisiac sight I have ever been fortunate enough to see."

As a young girl, Susannah was always too small, too light, too fragile to behold - like she belonged more so sitting within a glass case over a fireplace than out in the open. Now, her figure could still be considered petite, but there was an undeniable fullness in places one might expect, shapely for her frame and with all the grace of youth and spring.

One of his hands - rough and coarse, strong from swordplay and riding - settled about her ankle almost idly, but as she moved to draw her knees together, he made a teasing "tsk" noise and pulled her legs yet further apart - splaying her wide, so that her body took on a perverse shape.

It brings with it an undeniable sense of ownership, but also of obligation: that Susannah is his possession to influence, control and manoeuvre; but also his responsibility to cultivate, protect and take care of. Just…his.

Then he gathers Susannah closer against him, pressing his lips against her forehead with a powerful surge of protective tenderness, and Susannah gives a small contented sigh and leans appreciatively into the touch.

This prompted a little gasp from her, but it was nothing compared to his next trespass: he allowed his fingers to ghost up her leg, trickling up and up past her thigh, and then down again, this time massaging and kneading as he went.

"Just stay open like this for a few moments," he adds. "I would like to look at you – you are so lovely."

 _Oh God I've fallen in love with you_ , she wants to scream out at Elijah; and it wouldneedto be screamed – something raw and desperate – not whispered coyly but ripped, flayed and dripping, from out of the very core of herself. She makes a slight whining noise, biting her lip so hard she can taste blood. _I've being doing it the entire time haven't I?_ she thinks desperately. _Falling and fallen. I didn't even have a choice. Oh God oh God, I love you…but I don't want to because the way you make me feel is overpowering. You frighten me and I'm frightening myself. I want to know you but I don't know how. I want to feel sure. I want too much. I just want you. What have you done to me? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?_

"I thought you intended to give me a massage," Susannah says outloud. And Elijah really was right, her body is betraying her. Or no, maybe it's not betrayal. Maybe it's more like complicity.

"I suppose that will have to wait."

She watched helplessly as he lowered his mouth then, trailing kisses along a similar path, and shivered as he lingered at that erogenous area at the back of her knee.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice breathless enough to give reason for embarrassment.

"Attending to my love, of course," Elijah answered, with a smile that was far too innocent to be sincere. His lips and tongue worked expertly to tease and pleasure her, all the while with a certain awful glint in his eyes. "Do you not enjoy it?"

This was...a more subtle kind of torture than the outright brutality she had expected. To relinquish control of her own senses, and to him - she should have expected such masterful play.

She wasn't so naive to presume it couldn't happen, she just assumed she would have more...control.

That manipulative way he'd begun using her name, and now the obscenity he rendered upon legs. Her head fell back against the sheets out of red frustration, refusing to look at herself forced apart. The ceiling offered such a benign, indifferent view, aloft from everything - but she could still feel him drawing closer and farther, tantalizingly, from the spot between her thighs.

"This isn't enough," she instructed patiently, anxiously, to the happy ceiling. The words flowed uneasily, often disjointing and taking shuddering breaks each time his mouth discovered a particularly sensitive nerve. "More -"

"I'm taking my time." He withdrew, only to lazily pull off his buttoned down shirt. In the lowlight of the chambers, his muscles appeared more defined, and his lean strength more evident - the sight almost made her breath catch.

Abruptly engulfed by a frenzied playfulness, Susannah slipped away from reach on the other side of the bed. Forcing him to chase her.

She heard him laughing. "Susannah, Susannah, Susannah," he chided, each inflection more patronizing than the last, as she heard him slip from the bed. "What am I going to do with you?"

His hand went to her ankle and with one tug she was pulled back into her original position, so easily. The difference in strength between them nearly laughable.

"If you give me reason, I will have to tie you down," Elijah told her.

Taking her hand - that soft, unblemished thing - he brushed his lips over her knuckles, in an imitation of a chaste greeting, his smile widening mischievously again as his attentions deepened. He brought each finger to his lips, suckling slowly and enticingly; his eyes were on her at all times, watching for a reaction or weakness to exploit, and lingering where she was most affected.

This treatment stirred no noteworthy response by its own. It was her hand. All the intimate suckling in the world would have done nothing, were it not for all these... other things. It was the sight of Elijah delivering these (spitefully) tender affections, his closeness, the warmth of his own bare skin, and all those annoying well-sculpted things about him which rendered aloofness for even the most ludicrous gestures all but impossible. He was drawing it out on purpose; he had to be, for all the uncontrollable segments in her brain craving against the lot to sink into the feel of him.

And he was still talking, in that leisurely way of his. "Or perhaps rope would only...excite you further?" he voiced, smirking against her skin.

For all the softness of her skin, it was never this sensitive before -never.

Conversation was still tenuously being sustained. As far as distractions went, she could no longer afford to be choosy, but now, there was definitely something far more shaky, subdued, and almost despairing in her voice than before. "Rope? Why would that possibly excite me?"

To her relief, Elijah left off her neck, though something in his eyes told her he was more than aware now of her particular sensitivity - and would no doubt be exploiting it. He picked up her other hand, giving her fingers the same attention.

"I've been told there's a certain thrill that comes with restraint." He kissed down, past her wrist. "That feeling of absolute vulnerability." His gaze remained on her, his lips traveling still further, past the crook of her elbow. "And the knowledge that another has such power over you as to take you for his pleasure...however he wishes."

The words titillated as much as insulted; she tried to ignore them. The leisurely focus on her arm would've been something of a reprieve.

But of course, his mouth was at her neck once more, and now he was leaving tender bites all across her flesh, her skin caught between the wicked contours of his teeth.

"You'll leave a mark," Susannah cried out between barely suppressed whimpers.

"Good," was the mischievous answer.

He nosed down, still taking all the time in the world, the stubble on his chin offering a tickling scratch; his hand reclaimed her wrists (feebly struggling), pinning them above her head, so that her breasts - pert and slightly red with flush - were fully exposed for his viewing.

"Hmm," he said, with a mocking look of appraisal. He let his fingers trail over one breast and then the other, caressing them with the same slow, deliberate attention, and ending with a playful squeeze (and unabashed grin, when she inhaled sharply).

It would be so much easier if she weren't so sensitive to his touch.

He certainly took notice of how she squirmed and writhed beneath him, enough to prompt a self-satisfied smile. "I do believe you're becoming even more impatient, Susannah." He lowered his mouth to her breasts, replacing the ministrations of his hands, so that his breath fell hot against her skin. "There's no need to hide your desire. It's perfectly natural."

Even his taunts did not dampen the pleasurable swirling of his tongue.

"I'm not -" She was cut off, as his teeth clamped lightly over her nipple, tugging on it enough to elicit a threshold of pain - and further stimulation.

"Stop - It's too much."

The original withdrew, his laughter falling easily; his own manner was comfortable and at ease, in appalling contrast to her distress. "Oh, but it is what you want," he said, as he traced down, over the line of her hips. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of her chest, and the new indentations of his teeth upon her breast. "That much should be obvious, even to yourself."

He drank in the sights of her naked form - the swell of her hips, the dark patch of hair that shrouded her sex - with unhidden appreciation, and she was struck again by how he looked at her as if she were some goddess.

Placing his hands upon her thighs, he pushed, spreading them wide again, despite her efforts, so that it gave him complete and utter access to her womanhood. And before she knew what he was doing, he extended two fingers between her legs, slipping easing through her moistened folds. Jolted by the intrusion, she squirmed and made a frantic mewling noise, but he had already withdrawn then, his eye upon the telltale lubricant now staining his hand - his expression devilishly triumphant. "And it seems the feeling is mutual."

She felt the burn of her own flush, even as she reasoned, more stubborn then she actually felt, "It's a perfectly rational reaction."

"Is it? That sounds like a challenge."

Then she's being caressed once more – the cool tips of Elijah's fingers moving back and forwards in delicate strokes – and is embarrassed all over again by the way she can feel the tightness of the muscle eagerly yielding to such gentle yet firmly persistent exploration. Then Elijah is murmuring "Oh yes, that's it; that's perfect."

And everything under his touch is so wet and soft "Let me see how ready you are," adds Elijah; and then Susannah is groaning loudly as she feels a broad thumb slide deep inside her, slippery and slick-smooth, before withdrawing entirely and being replaced by a finger, and then two, which rub in exquisitely deliberate circles. The stretch is pleasureable, and she can feel her whole body clench.

"Oh, Elijah," her voice is breathy and nearly a moan.

"No, don't close your eyes," adds Elijah, soft but firm. "Keep them open. I want you to watch while I'm doing this."

He pushes his fingers in deeper, twisting them inside of her expertly, making her hips jerk.

A lovely, fretful noise from deep in her throat and Elijah can't help but smile at the sound of it.

"You terrible thing. Always testing my patience." Elijah chided gently, rubbing gentle circles inside of her. "You turn gentlemen into absolute beasts, sweetness."

He gently removes his fingers, forcing her legs wider apart, and this time lowered his mouth. He kissed along her sex, his stubble more ticklish than ever, and she keenly felt the new encroachment of every touch; he went ever deeper, undeterred by her squirms, and she stilled as he reached the opening of her lips.

Then she inhaled sharply, abruptly confronted by his tongue pushing into her, and of the butterfly sensations building over one another, into something more sinister. Her breathing took on a strange, shallow cadence, drawing a slight yet infuriatingly anticipatory burning from her lower stomach.

 _She tastes like love._

Her tongue was inside her, warm and wet against her walls, and there was nothing she could do to stop the cruel pleasures it was inflicting.

And the bond, the bond was on fire, infiltrating everyone of her senses. Pushing her further into the pleasure Elijah's mouth provided.

The attentions paused, only for his tongue to find the pink nub of her sex. He flicked - once, twice, each touch tantalizingly light, before his mouth closed over the nub entirely and slowly sucked around it. His tongue writing out a contract against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her hips bucked again, and Elijah had to force her back down on the bed, restraining her.

"No. Don't you dare close your eyes." He ordered, lips wet with Susannah's sweetness. "You will sit there and watch me properly worship you."

When he draws back to speak, he looks faintly savage; teeth bared, black pupils ringed with fiery amber.

Her hands claw at Elijah's biceps, Hot whips of want lash at her skin; she wants to own this beautiful man, wants to trace the delicate structure of his skull, peer into his depths, to know and see and taste every inch of him, inside and out; she wants to hear him mewl and moan with pain and pleasure, both, and beg for merciful release.

Her breathing stutters.

How could anyone sustain such pleasure? She's being sucked and lapped at as if she's something delectable; the way the touch is alternating between languorous flat strokes and more deliberate spearing thrusts; and how Elijah's hands are running up and down her thighs and forcing her legs wide open, then licking past her most intimate part until Susannah is so wet – so very wet; soaking in fact, wet everywhere– and now she's being fingered open again, and is powerless to stop herself rocking forwards to try and get more.

His love feels so luscious now…so ready; sweet and slick and almost unfeasibly responsive – sufficiently flushed and fervid.

And he knew...he knew she would taste sweet.

Her thighs are clamping around his head now, trembling and jerking sporadically. She squeaks a little and continues to make noise above Elijah calling out his name in her caramel voice, and it, all of it, is a feast for him.

For a few more moments he continues to rock his hand between Susannah's legs but gradually slows the movement and then stops entirely, instead allowing Susannah to set her own pace and move how she wants to.

She looks achingly beautiful like this: all muscles swaying and flexing, and the way the sheen of perspiration makes her brown skin glow like gold in the firelight.

She's extremely close now – Elijah can tell from the way her body is quivering and tightening, preparing itself for orgasm – and with his fingers buried so deep inside, right to the knuckle, he can feel every single tremor and clench. It's as if Susannah's trying to grip onto him; and in turn the feeling ofthatleads to the inevitable awareness of how those muscles would feel tightening onto his cock if it were sunk deep inside Susannah's beautiful body and she was about to come round it; and the idea is so intoxicating it requires every shred of his iron self-control not to simply spread Susannah wide open with both hands and fuck her into the mattress then and there. Instead he watches, with an entirely unfamiliar sense of tenderness, as Susannah gasps and rocks her hips backwards.

 _There you go my little darling_ , he thinks, _you're so close now aren't you? So much pleasure; and so overwhelmed by it. You can't quite understand how it can possibly feel so good._

"My poor Susannah," he said, with not the remotest note of sincerity. "Do not worry. I will grant you your relief."

His hand moved to his breeches, tugging it from his form and letting it join the rest of the discarded clothes at the bed's feet. Though she tried not to look, her eyes fixed on the jutting cock that was revealed. His member stood of substantial size and thickness.

Susannah gasped at the hardness of him, the size, and the weight. He very well might kill her because she was oh so tiny.

Was that supposed to fit inside her? "I don't think -"

"Shh," he murmured. Her squirming body was kept pinned by his hands as he moved over her, any escape impossible. With her hands upon her face as she shuddered again and again besides herself, it was a mercy that she neither saw nor was in any position to anticipate the first, sorely slow thrust. Her already unstable breaths took a sudden hitch, his head prodding at her before gradually forcing itself through.

"I need you sweetness. I need to be buried so deep inside of you that I never have to worry about losing you."

And slowly, he entered, pressing into her more and more; she felt every inch, felt herself stretching around him, felt her eyes drawing shut against the starbursts of pain. And just when she thought that every crevice inside of her was filled, that she could not possibly imagine the slightest more invasion - he pushed further yet, and she gasped as she felt the pressure of it, forced to give even greater way to his rigid length.

With the same agonizing slowness, he began withdrawing, and she felt herself clench and unclench about him, letting loose a long exhale as she felt a sudden, relieving (in only some ways) emptiness in his wake. But then she felt his head brush against her lips again.

The penetration was faster this time. She stiffened as he once more sheathed himself, and she felt the full violation of his member filling her utterly once more, leaving no part of her virtuous.

He began thrusting now, his cock impaling her with slowly building rhythm, taking what pleasure he wanted from her body as she lay helpless and writhing beneath him.

And the sounds that left her mouth-

Then he began to resume his other attentions. Still moving, he lowered his lips to her breast, clamping teeth to suck - before, thinking better of it, shifting to dote on her neck instead. His hands trailed down, finding their way to the abandoned post and cupping her breasts with rough and fondling fingers.

"I know this what you crave as well," he told her, and she was far too overwhelmed with all these stimulations to think of a reply. "Give in to me, Susannah."

He was moving more quickly, fucking her more roughly - any restraint slowly but surely ebbing away.

Except this isn't fucking. This is making love. And it is filling him with a tenderness he didn't know he could possess.

Her arms shifted of their own accord, hands blindly seeking purchase so as to save herself from being lost as he pounded into her. Susannah liked to keep her nails cut and trim, but even so she managed to find a way to imprint tiny white crescents in groups of four over his back.

"Oh God," Elijah blasphemes. And Susannah whines his name, breathily. She begs for more and more. The bond whispers, _I love you, Elijah. I love you. I love you._

"Susannah," and then she is clenching down and he is shuddering.

 _She is magic._

 _She is everything._

A pleasurable exhale fell from his mouth. "How lovely you are for me, sweetness."

"Elijah!" She gasped nearly scandalized, the obscene sound of their coupling filling the air.

"Oh?" He withdrew, only to impale again, and then again, his thrusts causing her to gasp with the force of his rigidity every time. "But you are lovely, Susannah."

His motions were giving way to an entrancing friction - it was so very warm, the wetness flushing her with almost as much heat as the one he was building in her core.

"And you are so very tight." There was no escaping his ravishment - he was too strong, his attentions too intoxicating. Writhe as she would, his hands lay claim over her body, imprisoning her for his taking. But she did pulse and gasp in his arms, her hips bucking and her back arched, reacting to all the passions lancing through her body.

"And you are all mine."

One of his hands settled over her breast - conveniently exposed for him, what with how her back had arched. She would have protested, but she was now beyond the ability to form coherent words, and it only felt like one more trespass among the many pummeling her. So too did the way his mouth grazed over her neck.

And then, Susannah feels the gentle, wet rasp of his tongue, and a quiet, surprised moan is shaken free from her at the sensation as soon enough Elijah's fangs dig into her flesh.

Fuck," Susannah cries out as those long, sharp fangs pierce her skin, slicing clean and deep into the flesh at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It hurts, god it fucking hurts, but only for a second, because then Elijah's lips seal around the wound he made and he sucks, and Susannah suddenly feels like she's melting.

Elijah makes a broken sound as he gulps his first mouthful of Susannah's blood, a wet, ragged snarl that she can feel down to her bones, liquid as she is. The coolness of Elijah's skin against hers contrasts with how hot his mouth feels against her throat, and each draw he takes feels like it's being pulled from the core of her, each time Elijah's throat works in a swallow, like it's filling him up with something molten and bright that settles in his belly and begs for release.

She swears she can feel it, even just a drop of her power mingling with the magic that animates Elijah, and her breath goes ragged, her fingers tightening in Elijah's hair to a point that must be painful. It's too much, it's too much, this connection.

He still keeps his punishing rythm as he feasts on her blood.

Feeding and fucking.

Blood-black eyes are open again and on her, dark and fathomless as the deepest depths of any ocean, and Susannah hears herself rasp out in a voice that sounds nothing like her own to her own ears, "Elijah."

Elijah nods, just a bare twitch of his chin. He feels it too.

Lovely Susannah. Terrible Susannah. Possessiveness makes him curl his hands in her hair, cruel and demanding.

And then it happens the heat that's been building and building explodes, and she is screaming and begging and pleading and Elijah gives no quarter. His fast pace increasing, as she tightens around him.

And the world fades in it's entirety, because all that matters is how complete she feels, how full, how loved.

It seems to last for a while and Susannah cries out over and over again as each wave hits, as if her small body can't quite manage the intensity of coming so hard and for so long; and Elijah vows to himself that every time they have sex from this moment forward he will bring Susannah the most amount of pleasure he can possibly manage. Nevertheless he doesn't think he's ever seen anything quite so exquisite in his entire life

Susannah feels like she's dying.

Susannah feels like she's never been more alive.

He soon follows releasing inside of her in hot, wet pulses. Susannah moans again at the sensation then slumps down onto the bed, trembling so badly that Elijah's medical instincts can't help but be alerted to it – and would probably be somewhat troubled if he wasn't astute enough to realise it's largely emotional overwhelm that's responsible rather than physical indisposition.

But he wasn't done. Couldn't let go over there connection, not yet.

He pushed her on top of him, forcing her body to straddle his, obscenely.

He captured her in a kiss, his lips claiming hers as easily as always - the strength of the motion an indication of his own hunger - so deep that she feared (and frightfully, felt thrills for) drowning in him. His tongue slipped in, toying with hers; he finally relinquished her wrists, so that he might cup the back of her head instead. There, they mussed about in her soft curls hair, as his other hand squeezed teasingly where they lingered at her ass. When he withdrew, his eyes were still on her.

"Gods you are beautiful."

With his hands gripping her thighs he pried her even wider.

She whimpered.

She felt his stiff member rub against her entrance, before he pressed into her and slowly forced himself inside. Breath escaped her momentarily as her body struggled to adjust and give way to his large girth. She would always be a little too tight for him, whispers of painful friction never too far away despite time and practice.

And then her eyes met his.

They were so dark. So very dark she almost didn't recognize him. But this was her Elijah, hers.

And there was no questioning his enjoyment of that tightness, judging by the half-lidded quality of his eyes. A sigh of pleasure escape him, as he sheathed himself fully, his hands settled over her hips to keep her still. "I've wanted you for so very long."

"Here I am," she forces back. How could he expect her to concentrate when he was buried deep inside her, stretching her so intensely and pleasurably?

The original had enough self-control to begin his thrusts slowly - almost agonizingly slowly - retreating only to stretch her taut.

"I have something for you."

And he reaches into his bedside table and hands her a thick handle of loose paper, ripped from a journal of some sort. One her blurry eyes can hardly even see.

"What-" her words get cut off by a sudden moan. "Lijah, I don't understand."

"Read it aloud."

She gasped a little from his movements, quivering under him, and only with great resolve was she able to focus on the letters before her. "My dear Susannah," she started between gentle shivers, "it is with great pride and pleasant surprise that—" a slight jerk and quake of her hips "—that we have peace within each other."

He continued to press into her, his tempo only increasing at that painstakingly slow pace. His hands grappled at her hips, where he had struck only moments before, causing more flickers of pain to intermingle with heady pleasure. "Yes...go on..."

The words on the parchment began to blur here and there. Her eyes squeezed closed before blinking open, another shuddering sigh coursing through her. "I -I have found that my affection for her... has - as, ah, has reached new limits... my mind..."

Her voice unsteady as it were, she bit her teeth together to stifle another gasp. As if there was not already enough distraction, he had lowered his mouth to her breast, his lips and tongue plying her with doting attention.

"What's the matter, Susannah?" he murmured. He grinned wickedly as his tongue flicked over her nipple, further stimulating her. "Does it usually take you so long to read?"

His cock continued to impale her; she hated how he was so gloriously thick and hard, how he was capable of provoking such pleasure in her body even when she fought against it. And how he knew it.

His eyes were on her. "Is my sweetheart...distracted?"

Trying to ignore his teases, she focused on the page and the writings scribed there. "...My mind is consumed of thoughts of her, of how she tempts me-" Another shudder rippled through her, a soft moan caught barely in her throat. "—these - these are not entirely unwelcome advances, through her stubborness I can... I can see her interest."

She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes again for a moment. "Is my lover even listening?"

"Oh, I listen to every word you say," said the Mikaelson. His mouth left her breasts, only to be replaced by his hands, heavy and fondling. "Why, do you want me to stop distracting you?" Judging by the smug look in his eyes, it seemed like he doubted this was the case.

His manhood rammed into her with more force, the tendrils of pain and pleasure spiraling deep into her core. These sensations were fuller than those his nimble fingers had wrought before - it was like comparing crumbs to a feast. She let out another gasp, eyes closing and opening rapidly.

He chuckled upon seeing the effect he had.

"Don't you see, you've always had my attention. Always." He lifted his mouth to her neck, to that tender spot where she had always been the most vulnerable - over his bite. There, he bit softly into her skin; she almost moaned as she felt his hot breath and doting tongue not long after. "Say my name," he murmured. "I want to hear you say it."

"Your name...?" It sounded like such a simple command which cost her nothing to obey, and surely he would reward her for it while upon this very bed. "But why?" she said instead, stifling the whimpers from his attentions. "I've already said it plenty, haven't I?"

"It matters because I desire it, and that is enough," said Elijah, his voice a low and masculine thrum. There was another thrust, his hard length breaching her yet further while she quaked over him.

"Say it," he murmured again. She could feel his stiffness deep inside her, firm and unmoving; he meant to deny her the release she craved unless she gave into his demands. "Say who it is that you belong to now."

Shivering again and again from his touches, from the thickness of him, she somehow managed to slide her arms back, settling her palms along his stubble.

"What if I can barely focus enough to say it...?" she quietly returned.

"You can focus enough to speak." He still sounded halfway amused, but there was an edge of impatience in his voice that she was right to fear.

He forced himself deeper, claiming yet more of her; the move was aggressive enough to cause tendrils of pain (along with hazy pleasure) to snake through her, coercing almost a yelp. There he remained lodged again, firmly in possession of her despite any attempts at writhing or struggling against him.

"I enjoy your mischief, but you must learn to submit to me." He took her hands from him, depriving her of free movement and pinning them over her head. "Say it," he repeated. He kissed along her neck, his lips slowly drifting up and up, until they brushed against her own. Even then, his grip tightened over her hips, a casual threat against further dawdling. "With your next breath, Susannah."

Another muffled whimper tore from her throat.

Trapped, and upon the precipice of that intoxicating tension, she couldn't so much as squirm - though she could still feel her legs quaking still. The mixed intensity and helplessness of it all was downright stifling, and her thoughts again took a turn for the hazy and overwhelmed. Her skin tingled against the sensation of his lips, and her unfocused, half-lidded eyes found his.

"Your hands are going to leave prints," whined Susannah. And yet she was not going to make the same mistake again in challenging him directly. That besides, he had given her no choice. She opened her eyes, managing to breathe, "Elijah."

Her voice was soft, but she never tore her eyes away from his unfairly mesmerizing dark depths as she said it.

His eyes in turn seemed to alight with something unfathomable. "You whisper it so sweetly," he murmured, as he studied her face. "How can I be blamed for coaxing it from you?"

In an instant, his fingers had relaxed their grip to a force more gentle, and when he kissed her, the hunger there was almost softened by equal tenderness. Nor did he stay still, now that she'd submitted to his desires. His rigid manhood - already so deeply impaled - trespassed further, plunging into her soft core; he pumped in and out, exciting shocks of hot pleasure that had already been so terribly teased and inflamed.

He was almost artful in the way he swept her toward climax. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she caught herself drawn more steadily into his - scarcely readable and dark and unbearably captivating for all her knowledge of his wickedness. Unfathomable, indeed, for her to have discerned any vulnerability in them even now, and there was none, and still she was woefully drawn to them.

Her lithe body bucked as she gasped into his lips. "It's not fair," she murmured against him, "not fair at all."

A smirk crossed his face at this allegation, for even her half-hearted resistance appeared to satisfy him. "I don't play fair, Vita Mia."

That was before the inexorable pleasure swept over her, seeming to rob of her both thought and breath. For a few moments, the world was reduced only to physical sensation - the heavy caresses of his hands, the doting touch of his lips, the relentless thrusts of his cock into her tight sex. Unearthly warmth flooded through her, expanding all the way to her fingers and toes, as she clung to him and desperately willed for him to never stop.

* * *

He begins to muse over why Susannah is being so uncharacteristically quiet. Exhausted, perhaps? Or, more likely, she's begun to feel self-conscious.

So Elijah pulls away to the other side of the bed, and as he does so completely misses the brief look of anguish that flits across Susannah's face at the sensation of being abandoned.

Then a stretch of silence follows in which Elijah gazes complacently at the canvas of Susannah's back like someone admiring a newly acquired artwork: frowning over slim white scars and the altercations they must represent; noting the cluster of curls that feather over the top of her neck and cataloguing the faint dusting of freckles, like constellations of tiny stars, before meticulously inspecting the curve and lift of each separate vertebrae...and all the time completely unaware that Susannah is staring helplessly into the flickering half-light and battling against aplunge of shocked unhappiness that's so overpowering it makes her want throw her head back and scream.

What's the matter with you? She thinks, attempting rationality; but it's hard to say because, oh God, fuck, it's everything: it's the uncertainty of what she's done and who she is, and what it means, and why it matters.

And the insecure part of her is screaming she is nothing more than a sexual encounter easily discarded. And it's a sense of shame and humiliation – of self-loathing – that's so intense it's almost physically painful. The idea of herself, on her back like that, completely out of control.

 _I've fallen in love with you; why did you let me do that? Why didn't you stop me?'_

Any one of these things would have been dismal enough by itself, but combined together they create a pitch of feeling that's virtually unbearable; and through a level of application that feels truly heroic, Susannah manages to remain in control and distil all the confused, frustrated unhappiness into only three words: "I should go."

For a few fleeting seconds Elijah actually looks surprised, but recovers himself almost immediately and says "Not at all," in a leisurely voice before adding: "You are perfectly welcome to stay here tonight."

"No…no, I should leave," mutters Susannah into the pillow. Oh God, now she has to face the humiliating task of retrieving her clothes (currently strewn all across the bedroom floor, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading…where?)

And Elijah, in one of his rare failures of insight, sees how unhappy and wary Susannah looks and sadly misinterprets it; assuming that any further contact would be unwelcome, and therefore resisting his initial impulse, which is to pull this beautiful damaged being close towards him and stroke her face and refuse to relinquish her again.

Instead he moves away to give Susannah some privacy and Susannah wants to fling her arms round him and beg him not to let go (and then feels disgusted with herself for being so pitiful) so practically dives onto her clothes and puts her shirt on inside out because she's so frantic to get dressed, get composed, and then get the hell out.

She can't help feeling that her presence must be a colossal irritant to Elijah. No doubt the assorted other conquests conduct themselves far more decorously…oh God, _fuck those bitches – fuck all of them._

"What has happened Susannah?" Elijah finally asks, and Susannah feels like she could respond with 'I've just come to my senses' or 'I've finally lost my mind' and both would equally be true.

"Susannah?" repeats Elijah in a gentle voice; and ironically enough it's the show of kindness that's the final straw.

Impatience or disdain would have inspired an answering strain of defiance in Susannah, or possibly pride, or even anger; but whatever it would have created, it would still have served in strengthening her resolve to conceal how ruined she feels. But this…and Susannah, to her complete horror, can feel her shoulders beginning to tremble and her face crumple in a distinctly ominous way- and tears burn her eyes.

"Please don't Susannah," he says quietly. "I can hardly bear to see you cry."

"I'm sorry, it's just…I'm tired, and…"

"You are exhausted and overwrought; understandably so. You have had an appalling few weeks." Very gently he strokes his fingers through Susannah's hair, struggling with the temptation to kiss her head but reluctant to take the risk of it unsettling her even more. "Stay here tonight with me."

"I can't," mutters Susannah into his shoulder. "I can't, Ican't."

"Of course you can."

"I can't," says Susannah tonelessly.

I still have myself, thinks Susannah with a sudden surge of rebellion. It might be a self that's wounded and ravaged, possibly beyond repair, but it's all that she has and she's not just going to surrender it over. I can do this, thinks Susannah defiantly. Can she? But then what difference does it really make, when it's just one more trial within a lifetime of forcing herself to do what can't be done?

So with a final surge of effort she disentangles herself from Elijah's arms. For a few seconds they gaze at each other and then Susannah scrubs her hand over her face, silently turns round, straightens her shoulders – and leaves.

The door shuts behind her with a restrained little click that feels like a spectacularly unsuitable conclusion for such an overwrought encounter. And Elijah, in turn, is forced to listen to the sound, and to see the door close, and to watch Susannah walk away; unpleasantly aware as she does so he is experiencing something that is almost entirely unfamiliar – a situation over which he's not in complete control. In fact the abrupt shift in dynamic has a pungently surreal quality to it.

Because while he could force Susannah to come back, or manipulate her into it, or delicately persuade or insidiously coerce (and has no doubt that at some point he could accomplish any, or all, of these things extraordinarily effectively) the one thing hecan'tdo is the thing he desires the most: which is to have Susannah knowingly and cooperatively return – to come back for no better reason than because she wants to be there.

 _Come back and be somewhere I can always find you; and that you'll always know where to find me. Come back wild and untameable yet provocative and playful; come back grave and enigmatic – come back entirely yourself. Bring all your thoughts and memories with you, all your darkness and your brilliance, all your lethal glacial beauty, every impulse and imperative, every outlawed thought and every forbidden feeling: every day and every hour for the rest of your life. Come back on foot or carried, come back running or walking; be majestic or despondent, audacious or ferocious; but however you do it come back and light the flare – ignite – immolate all that dark terrain inside yourself and then raze the old to raise the new. Come back and lean against my desk with your hands in your pockets, then run your fingers through your hair and smile and sigh and let me possess you. Let me console, complete and transform you, let me see what you can become. Come back, come back; come back to me. Come back and be mine. Come back and let me love you._

 _Just find your way, just follow your instincts._

 _Just come back._

* * *

Susannah has no real recollection of getting home, although she obviously must have done because she wakes up next morning in her own bed: still wearing last night's clothes and with a pain in her head that's so piercing it actually makes her moan out loud.

She stands quickly, fighting off a new surge of depression. _You're fine_ , she mutters to herself, _everything's fine_. Even though she clearly isn't, and it's not.

Outside it's overcast and shadowy: the sky a sickly, glowering dappled dun colour with rain streaming off murky mud-streaked cobbles to trickle into the gutter and she can see her neighbors swaddled against the cold with heads cast down from a welter of bitter wind. It's ominous weather. Melancholy.

 _On a day exactly like this_ , thinks Susannah bleakly, _I was born._

She hesitates to change because her clothes smell so strongly of Elijah. Susannah herself does. It's on her hair and skin, lingering over her inside and out, almost as if she's been marked.

Elijah's scent and Elijah's touch. Elijah, who is so eternally fascinating whereas Susannah is so desperately uninspired; who is light on his feet while Susannah casts a shadow; and who devises and discards his own rules of cascading and fiendish complexity as he goes along, whereas Susannah trails behind inhibited by rules and rationalisation.

She can feel a stinging sensation at the back of her eyes and the faintest hint of moisture in the corners, but tells herself that it's just the pain in her head that's causing it.

* * *

Elijah sits in his bedroom, the very room where the lingering scent of Susannah is the strongest, gazing pensively at the fireplace as the flames writhe and snap. The crackling noise is not loud but still seems strangely amplified by the stillness and silence of the rest of the apartment.

In his hand rests a photo.

Susannah's face gazing back at him.

In fact her presence is harder to ignore here than any other part of the apartment because there are reminders of her everywhere. The small scuff marks across the rug are from where Susannah traced a pattern on it with her foot, Susannah's glass is still on the window ledge, and Susannah's finger prints are traced very faintly across the pane like little gossamer tears. The chair opposite his own is at the same angle when Susannah last sat there and pushed it away as she stood up. On the desk there are several books which are out of place, but have not yet been neatly arranged amongst their fellows because it was Susannah who picked them up and dislodged them.

There's a sudden loud knock on the door and Elijah sighs inwardly, uncoiling himself from the chair.

He takes in the golden, haunted face and the large eyes and the slim shivering body that is soaked through from the rain; and he takes a sharp intake of breath in spite of himself, because – _I missed you so badly_ , thinks Elijah, _I missed you more than words can say._

This slight and slender figure. So ethereal looking in the drenched and misty night: like something that's been raised from the floor of the ocean with gold for eyes and coral for bones and yet still so achingly perfect, even in its extreme imperfection.

That went away and roamed free and yet somehow, against all reasonable hope or expectation, has returned its precious self to where it really belongs.

Something so wild and wary, so cautious and rebellious; something that runs on small, quick feet and evades each attempt to pin it down and claim it. And yet despite that, despite all of it...still something that came back.

"Don't leave again, Susannah," Elijah finally says. "You'll want to retreat. Stay here with me. Because next time I can't promise I won't go after you and that I won't make you stay."

There's a beat of silence, and then: "Where else would I go?" replies Susannah quietly.

For a few seconds they stare at each other as the rain pours down. And then Elijah holds opens his arms without saying a word; and Susannah, without saying a word, goes straight into them.

For a while there's a yearning stretch of silence that's broken only by raindrops drumming on the paving stones and then: "You must never leave me again," says Elijah softly. She doesn't respond, merely droops forward until Elijah is baring most of her weight – and yet isn't that response enough, thinks Elijah with quiet gratification: that this is at least one place which can be relied upon to break the fall?

In this respect it's neither entirely easy nor natural to relinquish Susannah for a second time, but with a degree of reluctance he finally lets her go and places a hand on her shoulder to steer her inside.

They walk without speaking through the dimness of the hallway and into his bedroom, where Elijah lights some candles and adds a few more logs to the smouldering remains of the fire. Then he turns round and feels his mood abruptly shift, because the additional light means he's able to fully take in Susannah's appearance for the first time.

"Who did this?" says Elijah sharply. He gestures towards the gash on Susannah's cheek then cups the side of her face, noting as he does so the marked contrast between the softness of her skin and the frantic tension in her jaw.

But Susannah just stares back numbly, swaying from side to side and blinking very rapidly as if she's finding it hard to focus.

Elijah stares back in turn, beginning to feel the first stirrings of concern as he notes the obvious signs of fever: the unnaturally glittering eyes, the damp unhealthy flush and the generally drained, depleted look that make this current version of Susannah seem like a sad shadowy effigy of the genuine one. "My love?" he says, more gently. "What happened to you?"

She smiled, falsely. "Your brother sends his love and a message. The sacrafice happens tomorrow."


	19. Chapter 19

_Susannah knows Niklaus Mikaelson is close by the way her fingertips feel like frost. Somewhere deep, beneath her skin lies the core of her power, and in his presence it feels like a hook pulled by an invisible string._

 _"I should kill you myself," he greets his blue eyes glinting in the meager light with his dimples on full display._

 _Susannah mulls those words over. "And yet, there you stand...not killing me."_

" _And here I stand, not killing you," Klaus says around a sigh._

* * *

"Did I anger you sweetness?" Elijah circled her, his eyes dark as night.

She ignores the question.

Offers a blatant dismissal, in fact.

"I never did see the appeal in terms of endearment," Susannah's voice rumbled out. Welcome, after the hours he'd gone without hearing its soothing cadence.

Elijah hummed in reply, quirking an eyebrow. And she couldn't help but wonder if the defenses Elijah erected against the world were not made to defend against outside forces.

No, they were made to contain something dangerous within.

"I like it. When you do it, that is."

"Yeah? You like it when I call you sweet things, baby?" Elijah's voice was ligh-hearted, one who didn't know him would call it playful teasing.

His every step was tall and regal, an elegant display, surrounded by an air of nonchalance. He kept himself at a respectable distance with no tension visible in his frame. Within the bond however, hostility burned slow and hot.

He shifted slightly and all Susannah wanted to do was burrow in his protective strength.

"Why did you leave me, my love?" His hands are in his pockets and the line of his spine is relaxed.

Nevertheless the hairs on the back of Susannah's neck lift.

Her breathing grows shallow, but otherwise no reaction.

Only the slightest twitch of his eyebrows let her know that her silence only provided further anger.

"Did I hurt you?"

Elijah's voice is low and hypnotic and Susannah has an abrupt memory of reading about the Indian fakirs and their capacity to charm snakes: how the two weave and undulate together, moving with the synchronicity of lovers and constructing a mutual seduction through sound. But that surely can't be the right analogy because it would mean that Susannah herself was the snake…and aren't they supposed to be loathsome and wicked?

"No."

"Did you feel pressured?"

Susannah pauses then, before answering. "No."

"Then why?"

She is not moved, so Elijah moves her. Taking her by the cheek and drawing her close.

"Klaus is-"

"I don't care about that. Not right now." Elijah stepped forward, a command on his tongue. "Answer me."

He bares his teeth.

Elijah doesn't brandish his teeth unless you are as good as dead. There is however, one exception, when you are his.

"I couldn't look at myself without seeing you on my skin and it scared me." The words fall from her mouth in a shaky whisper, and she showed her teeth back in a pointed, threatening sort of smile, harsh, cruel, meant to draw blood. "I was trying to remember who I was before I met you. When I reach into the past all I see is the potential for this moment."

" _It scares you_." Elijah repeats.

Almost unbelieving.

He knew Susannah was often afraid. She carried it with her at all times. But she knew how to work around it, to make her fear into a weapon rather than hindrance.

The empath carried herself with an easy grace and air of respect that was generally unheard of.

So when Susannah allows her head to drop, so did Elijah's stomach.

"I was engaged once."

Elijah froze his hand tightening into a fist. "Oh?"

 _People break in odd ways. Sometimes they recover, other times they don't. This is her wound._

"His name was Kion." Her voice cracked and the pain in her eyes nearly broke him. How he wished he could wipe it away. "Kion was..."She shifted, looking drained in a way he hadn't seen in a while. "He didn't hold back on any aspect of life."

Elijah closed his eyes, holding them shut for just a moment.

At his silence she just went on.

"I'm not good at this," she said openly, honestly. "It's abysmal."

"Perhaps he didn't understand you."

"I wasn't really good at helping him understand."

She taps her hands against her thigh.

"It was arranged, that was the way of my time after all." She shakes her head. "Kion was putting in a lot of effort into being charming, so he wasn't all that bad to be around...but I, but he couldn't handle...he fell apart when I needed him most."

"A gilded cage is still a cage," says Elijah. He places a possessive hand round the back of Susannah's neck, alternating between stroking it with his thumb and gently massaging the top of the spine. "So when did it go wrong?"

"It was never right."

She turned away, pacing like a lion does when trapped in a too small cage.

A small smile formed on Susannah's lips. "He was powerful." When she finally looked at Elijah it was with wide, imploring eyes. She took a deep shaky breath. "A lot of people loved him."

The girl blinked, and Elijah got the impression that she was back in the present. Echoes of joys Elijah could never know blazed and then slowly died in Susannah's eyes. She looked smaller and more fragile without them

"He wasn't wise, he didn't have great insight either. He wasn't masterful or a sharp operator," After her jaw flexed. "But he was horrifying. He had an almost unparalleled level of no inhabitations. There was no depth to which he wouldn't stoop. No blow to low. No remark too cruel."

Fear entered her expressive eyes, causing his mouth to run dry.

"When he died, I..." she brought her fingers to her lip, biting down on her nails. "... I did not react well."

Who would? His breath catches, and Elijah knows it's not his responsibility to pick up these broken pieces he didn't realize she had. He knows all this, and yet the desire to help, to comfort, is there.

"I was reckless..." She stopped the words lost on her. "I uh..."

Elijah gently increased the pressure of his hand against hers, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles around the back of her hand.

"I just didn't do well. For a lot of reasons. And my predecessor, Silas, overreacted about some things." She shook her head. "Or maybe he didn't. I still don't know. It's hard to see it from a different perspective when you're that lost. It felt different, like I was…like there was something wrong with me. It made me feel so…small." Her face tightened. "I'm sorry. I'm not making any sense, am I?" She rubbed her right eye. "Nothing I'm saying sounds right. It's all just…jumbled. And I don't feel like I'm describing it right."

Tears start again, and they're no longer just pools in her eyes causing some stomach pain, now they're streaking violently down her flushed cheeks and his chest constricts so tightly it's like he can't breath.

"I loved Kion," she murmured. "Or I thought I did."

She always had this theory that love exists at this bottomless pit that you fall deeper and deeper into and it won't matter how long you've known someone or how much time spent together, you'll still keep falling.

And yet, she's working on the part of that theory that allows for...the opposite direction. Falling out of love. Perhaps, one has to claw his or her way out of the pit for that to happen. Maybe, someone sends down a rope and you'll be able to pull yourself out.

And Kion. She just couldn't be in love with him anymore without tearing herself apart. So long ago, in that coffin, she clawed herself out.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Elijah. A lot I don't know how to say."

"All I ask is you try."

Susannah sucks in a breath. "I've always been hiding."

"Why?" Elijah asks lowly. Susannah's pain was so raw, inhibited, that it shook Elijah to the core.

"My past experience with sex wasn't...pleasant."

The original tensed. "It was, however, consensual?"

Silence.

Her face closed off.

"I had to show myself as untouched in order to maintain the engagement. I hid all the bruises and made it look like nothing ever happened...and to everyone around me, nothing did."

Elijah had seen loss. Seen what it could do to people, seen it in herself. But it seemed to him that women always endured. Men suffered some. Push a broken bone back in, live with the bruises, don't talk about the ones on your heart. Die in battle, or mysteriously. Or just go out abruptly and unforeseen, like a flickering candle in a strong wind. But women were tortured. They were forced to live with their pain, their loss, and be stoically strong about it in order to prioritize those around them. He's seen women be consumed by illness. He'd seen them bleed routinely; he'd watched them cry, and scream so violently they were doubled over with grief. He'd known women to be mistreated, beaten, raped.

They needed to be pillars of composure and power, even more so then men, because the slightest faltering would be taken as evidence of failure. And it was all so unfair. So degradingly unfair.

"Don't look at me like that, Elijah, there is nothing wrong with me. I'm not ruined. I'm not broken-"

"I know," he combs through her hair. "I would be a fool to imply that you were."

"Please don't treat me like I am fragile."

"I won't," and she can see the sincerity in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she pushes through, because if her heart truly wants Elijah...then she has to at least try at being honest.

"When Kion found out...It was, I was suffering. I suffered. And my suffering merely became a part of his. It was like in his head, men raped me as a way to punish him. He subsumed my pain with his. And he couldn't handle it. He just couldn't. And I needed him and he wasn't there."

"He failed you."

"He did."

"So that is why you believe everything has a catch." Elijah moved around his space, into her space, undaunted by the truth. "You've been afforded genuine trust, unconditional love, unconditional acceptance so rarely that, when the opportunity seems before you, you are always on the lookout for the snake lurking in the underbrush. Ironically, it makes you short sighted in ways you may not expect. You may spot the snare, but not the pit covered in leaves."

And the pain and sadness just melted away as that force of nature that is Susannah rushed forward. "You think I'm short sighted?"

"I think your purposely avoiding the truth."

"Was last night just sex?"

Elijah stares at her. And then he chuckled. "That's why you ran. You thought last night was just sex but you didn't know how to ask. So you ran, because you would rather be the one who left then the one who was left behind."

"Elijah, please just answer the question."

The new world Elijah dragged her into, everything seems so different. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every word seems like a first time experience.

He ran a hand on the side of her face, his touch so cold it burned. "I don't want to scare you with the depth of my affections."

"You're tiptoeing."

"Should I be more blunt, then?"

"Please."

Elijah took a breath. "My feelings are not platonic. I desire your company in any extent you wish to share it, and abhor the idea of causing your strife. I doubt there is anything you could ask me that I would refuse. Know that last night was more than physical release."

"Even with knowing how...messed up I am?"

"Don't presume to know what I do and do not want, Susannah," Elijah warned her. "And it hurts to hear such words; it makes me want to put you where I stand so you will see what I do."

Susannah opened her mouth to reply, but tears started to clog her vision and her throat grew too thick, Elijah's eyes softened and he cautiously cupped Susannah's jaw again. "Trying to hurt me will not push me away," Elijah murmured gently. "Trying to cast yourself in a certain light won't make me react the way you wish I would, but I understand why you're doing it. I'm not leaving."

"And why do you think I'm doing it?"

"Because you cannot fathom that anyone would want you knowing the entire truth. What you are. But what you are, Susannah Bennett," Elijah rumbled, "is astonishing. You are stronger than anyone I have ever met and I find myself completely helpless to you, Devoted to you, even if you push me away. I don't care if you lie, I don't care for right and wrong. Such things do not and never will apply to you. You're exempt from it all."

Susannah shuddered. "I'm terrified Elijah. I'm terrified of this world and how I am supposed to fit in it."

"You don't have to fit in to anything, and if there ever is a reason that you need to, I will carve the world to fit around you."

Elijah kissed her and the world melted away because finally...finally after all these years of feeling misplaced, shaken, wrong, she finally feels safe. His hands roam freely over her body, possessively and she conforms to his probing touch.

"I want this Elijah." Susannah whispered against his lips. "I do, but I'm under no illusions it's going to be easy. I'm a difficult person to deal with already and, as you might know, I tend to lose myself a little in relationships, but I want this. It's what my heart wants, and I have to get my head to catch up."

Elijah makes a sound so low it was more of a vibration. Predatory, powerful, relishing the delicious submission offered willingly by someone glorious. He moved closer, a motion almost reptilian, fast enough to draw Susannah's lips back from her teeth, but no arms came to push him away.

"Remarkable thing," Elijah murmured, watching Susannah's throat as she swallowed. "Will you listen?"

 _Will you obey me? Bend to me? Submit_.

"Will you?" Susannah replied.

Elijah's delight was palpable. He drew his knuckles up again, moving higher, skimming Susannah's pulse with his thumb.

"My sweet Susannah," he would train her to associate his touch with her pleasure. "Your voice is the last thing I want to take from you." He wants to hear that lovely voice.

Hear it pull tight and tremble.

"A relationship without balance is destruction," he breathed drawing his nose against Susannah, looking straight at her. Amused. Curious. "I want your honesty and loyalty. I will give you mine. You want my everything. You'll have it."

"And the rest?"

"Quid pro quo, as it comes."

Susannah swallowed again, allowed the words to settle against her, gave herself a moment to think.

"I don't want just reciprocity. I want equality."

"Let us not do a disservice by pretending that you have ever been or ever will be anything other than my perfect equal and opposite."

"If we're doing away with pretense," she purred, "why not disperse with all the others."

"If so, look at me." Elijah commanded.

Susannah made a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a sound of protest.

"What are you doing?" she said between labored breaths, clearly annoyed. "You know—you know eye contact is hard for me."

Elijah may not bleed his inner self all over the walls like other people did, but he still filled a room.

"I know it's hard with other people. I haven't seen you evade eye contact with me for quite sometime now. Why is it hard for you now?"

Susannah narrowed her eyes. A scowl pulled at the edges of her mouth. "It's hard because it's hard," she said, sounding defensive and almost wounded. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"Don't you?"

She licks her lips, steps forward, gathering her courage.

"Your mine, Icarus."

"And you are mine, my darling Eve and Persephone."

* * *

They should be talking about Niklaus, about the incoming ritual, about everything.

Instesd they held onto each other, bare, and tangled up in one another. They let sleep fall between them like it should have happened the night before. Like it was meant to happen.

And when Elijah gives her one of his rings, the one he had since before he became what he is now, she held onto it tightly.

* * *

"I need Niklaus out of the way," Susannah said the following morning, the morning of the ritual. "I need him weakened, I need him silenced. I cannot make peace between the Salvatore's and myself while he sews mistrust."

Her eyes darted to Elijah. "And I wonder..."The original cocked his head and waited for her to continue. "I wonder if Bonnie might help me do it."

"Oh?"

"I have a plan, one that may keep Elena alive, have your brother complete his transition and have you refrain from having to...remove him."

"I have to kill him."

Elijah doesn't change. His face remains like stone, his body still holding the same energy as before. And that's how she knows, instinctively, that the words hurt. When Elijah Mikaelson becomes overly deliberate, it's because he is hiding something.

"He destroyed my family."

"He didn't. He couldn't have, Elijah." She lifts her hand to his face, and she almost sighs at the way he leans into her touch. "You and Niklaus are very different but still in some ways very much the same. He understands and appreciates that one must complete a painting before proceeding to the next, or the paints get mixed on the brush and the lines will blur." She pauses catching Elijah's eyes. His lips are drawn into a line, and his hand is tight around the edge of the table in what looks like a crushing grip.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that he values family just as much as you do but probably viewed you all as a liability. And what do you do with liabilities?"

"You get rid of them."

"That doesn't necessarily mean permanently. He needs you. He needs his siblings, Elijah. He was posturing when he told you he threw their bodies into the ocean."

"Susannah-"

"But Niklaus says he doesn't trust me. Well if he will not take my words as more than hot air, perhaps he will take Bonnie's as something."

"He'll think this is a trap-"

"Is he not a man of reason? Perhaps he should investigate the truth of it on his own."

Elijah leaned forward, watching her intently. "You intend to lure him towards Bonnie."

"He thinks I'm a snake, that I'm manipulating you. Fine. Let him deal with someone else. I want him distracted. I cannot do what I need to do as long as he is forcing his presence on everyone. Let Bonnie be the weapon I use to cut through his focus."

"And if he hurts her?"

"He won't."

Elijah looked her up and down. "Susannah, my brother is impulsive-"

"I know Klaus," Susannanh replies, her head ticked to the side. "His obsession with hybrids is like an imprint on my skin, a map I can read like no other. I can make him see whatever we need him to see, I can make him do whatever we need him to do."

"And will Bonnie appreciate being used by her only family?"

"She used me to."

"So this is the proper response," Elijah counters reaching for her.

"It's the only way that everything falls into place the way we want. That no one important dies." Susannah scowled. "I ask you to trust me. Trust me as I trust you. And let the music play."

"Then by all means," Elijah replies with a kiss. "Let me hear your symphony."

* * *

Bonnie wasn't supposed to be here.

In fact, she didn't even understand why she was here. All she knew was she had this pounding in her head and this voice whispering in her ear. So she stupidly followed it, followed it straight to Nik.

He was smirking at her presense, and she wanted to set him on fire on principle but she restrained herself.

 _"I'll do a spell, one that will guide Bonnie to her soul's desire," Susannah said lightly, her eyes drifting out towards the window._

 _"Would she not know a spell has been cast on her?" Elijah grabs a hold of her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm._

 _"It's not a spell in the traditional sense...just an enhancement. Something to open her mind, her instincts to him."_

 _"Would that not leave her vulnerable to my brother's influence."_

 _And Susannah grinned._

 _"Not if I do the same to him."_

"Love," Klaus said, his eyes roving up and down her form with no hesitance. He moved forward, not so much slow as he was measured. "Looking for me?"

"No," she bit out, her eyes narrowing into daggers.

"Of course you aren't," he smugly replied. "It wouldn't do for the precious Bennett to come looking for me. What would they all think...they'd probably be disgusted."

She feels gutted, flayed, and left indecently open for him to dig into and rip apart. A thousand years must have made finding someone's weak points easily done. The trees around them, instead of providing comfort like they usually did, felt like a cage keeping her locked in.

"I was just going on a walk."

"All alone?" He tilts his head. "You don't hold much regard for your own safety."

"I can take care of myself." She doesn't take her eyes off of him. It wouldn't do to take your eyes off the threat. "Why are you here?"

And he grins, and although it seems lighthearted, she can't shake the dangerous feeling that runs up and down her spine. The feeling of power. The one she gets from Elijah, and even Susannah. As if...as if they were all just chest pieces and they were the real players. Her magic rises up with her anger, ready to do harm should it be necessary. She's not a fucking game.

"I'd like to know why you care so much about the doppelganger? All it requires is her sacrifice and then when that is done...so will everything else be."

Bonnie swallows harshly. Her lips part and her fingers curl harshly against her thighs, into fists. She taps her knuckles against one thigh, a set of ten.

"I'll tell you," Bonnie says, strained. "But you have to answer my question first."

"Why is that."

"I'll cite precedence. I asked first."

Klaus tilts his head to the side. He forces his tongue behind his teeth and resist the urge to bare them, to cow Bonnie Bennett into submission. He could do it- easily, But Bonnie just stared at him, her eyes a fire of green.

"This is where my transformation will take place."

Bonnie bit her lip, her eyes darting to the ground before her. Susannah had promised that if they did this correctly then Elena would come back. They just had to be patient, to be smart. Even if that meant snapping Damon's neck and throwing him in the Salvatore cellar for the time being. Or Elijah turning a criminal and finding a wolf to be used...to be killed. Now all that was left was for the time to come. For everyone to get what they desired so they could all leave.

"I'm loyal to my friends."

Klaus chuckled then. "I wonder what will get you killed first: your loyalty or your self righteousness."

"I wonder what will get you killed first: your arrogance or your entitltement."

His hand was to her throat in an instance, and her nails helplessly clawed at him. His grip was tight, but not brusing, not constricting.

"Careful, little witch." He leaned forward with a smile. "I need you."

"Why?" she choked out.

"Because you are mine."

And when the world faded to black and all that was left was his smirking face, a spike of dread entered her heart.

* * *

 **A/N next chapter comes the ritual and then this story is going to have a wild shift in perspective. Bonnie Bennett and Klaus Mikaelson love galore is on the way!**


End file.
